Et il commence…

Aunt Dolores, mom (Ruby), Aunt Bernice, Aunt Gladys, Aunt Hazel

I will soon leave on a cruise with my mom and her four sisters who range in age from 65 to 80 years old. I have been instructed by Aunt Dolores, “the oldest,” that I am not to introduce the group by saying, “They’re all sisters. SHE’S the oldest.” I told her that I’ll tell everyone they’re quintuplets.  All born simultaneously. Like chihuahuas out of a clown car.  A true miracle of nature.

In the last few weeks, two of the sisters have had dental emergencies involving broken teeth. My sister Bonnie asked the other three sisters if they had experienced any broken teeth recently. Aunt Hazel gave Bonnie a puzzled look and said, “If I break a tooth, I just drop ‘em off in the morning and tell them I’ll pick ‘em up after work.” Note to self: don’t worry about Aunt Hazel’s teeth.

Yesterday, mom was describing our cabins to three of her sisters. I wasn’t really listening to the conversation until I heard my mom say, “There’s a couch in the room, so if anybody picks up a man, the other sister will have to sleep on the couch.”

Wait. What?

Aunt Gladys said, “Man? Hell, I’m on vacation. What do I want a man for?” She’s one of the married ones.

Aunt Dolores, “the oldest” of the quintuplets, said, “Bring them back to the room? That’s crazy. If anybody finds a man, go to his room. You people aren’t thinking straight. Don’t bring him back to your room where there are four other women.”

Holy. Crap.

I thought I was going to be concerned with broken teeth, broken hips and blood sugar levels. Now, I find I’m going to have to worry about curfews, bed checks and booty calls.

I think I’m going to need a bigger journal.

Pour être continue…