Into the Trash

So, the next morning was a little chilly from Bitchy, though I got up early to give them their meds, around 7. They were still sleeping, which was unusual, but I follow the maxim: Never wake a sleeping octogenarian!

Spying some activity around 8:30 I finally gave their morning pills and she said, "Make your father an egg, I went back to sleep!"

Also unusual, as she takes charge of his eating and normally makes him a slice of some bakery bread and tea. But I said "Sure" and set to it. He tottered out to the dining room to eat, leaving her to stay in bed doing the newspaper puzzle, as usual.

Throughout that day and those following I just did what has become expected of me. Mostly in relative silence, but with a "pleasant" expression on my face. Feed them meds morning, noon, and night. Make their bed when they get up. Pick up newspapers, scattered clothes, dirty dishes and teacups, tv remotes, dad's electric shaver, and copious crumpled, used Kleenex tissues from underneath pillows and sheets, on the floor, on nearly every visible surface and more. This day I took in a tub of laundry to my bathroom (where the double-decker unit is) and was mildly pleased to find nearly no pee-stained underpants!

My other chores I'll mention another time, but that afternoon Bitchy brought out Hunk's tiny bathroom wastebasket and declared that it should be lined hereafter with a plastic bag, to accommodate the disposal of his used Depends. "Great idea," I praised, thinking I should find a slightly larger sized basket since one Depends would just about fill the thing.

...

Today during lunch, I returned the shaver to his bathroom while they finished. Whereupon I noticed the Father's Day card I'd given him, which had been on his bedside table, smooshed down into that little wastebasket.