All right. The first proof copy of Library Lost has been edited, and a second proof copy is on its way, with an expected delivery of next week. Normally, this would be a chance for me to catch my breath and maybe get some much-needed household chores done. But…we have two fairs this weekend, and, just to add a merry touch, a nor’easter is blowing up the East Coast. Will the fairs be canceled? And, our perennial question, will we lose our power? Stay tuned!
Last week, Clif had a cataract removed, and the procedure was a huge success. His vision is greatly improved, and he hardly has any restrictions on what he can lift. But I promised you a funny story about his cataracts, and here it is.
First, we must have a picture of Clif wearing what he has dubbed his “glasses of shame,” which loudly proclaim cataract surgery and old codger satus. The gray hair, of course, just adds to it.
Even with a procedure as minimally invasive as a cataract removal, fasting is necessary. An upset stomach during the procedure would be a Very Bad Thing. Clif’s surgery was just past noon, and by the time he had sufficiently recovered, it was about 2:30 or 3:00. Even though Clif was woozy from the sedatives he had been given, he was hungry. Extremely hungry.
The nurse was in the room while we were discussing where to eat, and she said, “There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken just down the road.”
“Do you want to go there?” I asked Clif.
“Yes,” came the prompt reply.
Thus one of our guilty pleasures is revealed—we both have a soft spot for Kentucky Fried Chicken. A leftover from our youthful days, I suppose. We hardly ever eat there, but when we do, we enjoy it.
The nurse helped a wobbly Clif to the car, and off I drove. At KFC, there was, of course, no nurse to help Clif. There was just me, significantly shorter than Clif and with creaky knees to boot. In we toddled—a woozy Clif with his glasses of shame and me doing my best to hold a steady course. I can only imagine what we looked like.
Because we hardly ever go to KFC, we had no idea what the various meals included. Swaying slightly, we studied the large menu sign on the wall behind the counter. Finally I asked the woman who was patiently waiting for our order about what sides came with one of the Big Box Meals.
Without hesitating, she leaned over and said in a loud whisper, “Ask for the senior citizen special.”
And so we did, saving ourselves about $10. We each had two pieces of perfectly cooked chicken, a surprisingly light biscuit, hot mashed potatoes with gravy (yes, they were instant), and cole slaw.
As we ate, we giggled about being urged to order the senior citizen special. This is a first for us as usually we have to ask for it. But I suppose we looked like a pair who was in desperate need of a good deal.
Everyone once in a while, there is a benefit to being gray haired and wobbly.