Betty’s Brain Fog

My wife’s mother, Betty, frets about her memory; I quizz Betty, hoping to convince her that she has all her marbles.

Jaron: How are we feeling today?

Betty: We? I don’t know about you but at 99 –I don’t need to remind you it’s really 99 and seven months — BRAIN FOG will be the death of me.

Jaron: We’ll get you some fog lights.

Betty: And, maybe you should develop a bit more compassion. I CAN’T REMEMBER A DAMN THING.

Jaron: How many daughters do you have?

Betty: Two.

Jaron: Exactly. And how many times have they been married?

Betty: Twice each. The oldest one had two practice husbands. Your wife only had one. You are what’s left of the four.

Jaron: So that would make me your best son-in-law.

Betty: Duh. You’re the only husband that’s left. So I could say you’re also the worst.

Jaron: And how many husbands did you have?

Betty. One. In my day one was enough. And, sometimes it was too many. Harry and I loved each other.

Jaron: And how long has he been gone?

Betty: Ten years and there is not a day I don’t think of him.

Jaron: It doesn’t sound like you have brain fog to me.

Betty: Things that happened decades ago I remember. My short term memory is burned out. Brain fog.

Jaron: What did you eat yesterday?

Betty: Some pasta and soup. It was tasty. Just the right amount of salt.

Jaron: Your short term memory seems fine.

Betty: I’ve been knocking back pasta and soup for the last 90 years. When I say I have brain fog that means I can’t remember new experiences.

Jaron: That makes sense.

Betty: Do you come by to confuse and taunt me because I’m almost 100?

Jaron: I came by to pick up the $75 you borrowed from me last Friday.

Betty: What did I borrow the money for?

Jaron: Beats me. You wanted the money so I gave it to you. It was about two pm, Friday, after lunch. I gave you a fifty. A twenty and a five. All new bills.

Betty: I don’t remember that.

Jaron: Well, I happen to have a selfie of you getting the money.

Betty: Let’s see that selfie.

Jaron: I don’t have my phone with me. Just give me the money.

Betty: I never borrowed jack sh*t from you.

Jaron: Your word against mine. I don’t have brain fog.

Betty: Of course not, you don’t have a brain.

Jaron: Not a nice way to talk to your favorite son-in-law.

Betty: Your assessment, not mine. Stop hustling me. I never borrowed any $75 from you, did I?

Jaron: No.

Betty: No what? Explain.

Jaron: I made up the $75 to illustrate that your short term memory is fine. You remembered I didn’t get the money.

Betty: You’re committing elder FRAUD.

Jaron: By acting like you have brain fog, you’re probably committing a “medical felony.”

Betty: I WANT to have brain fog. I long to forget things. Like how pretty I was. They said I was beautiful. Look at me. Can’t hear. Can’t see. Can’t walk. Time for you to go.

Jaron: OK.

Betty: Kiss me goodbye.

I did.

Betty: Scram before I report you to the brain fog authorities.

Betty when she was 16 — 83 years
and five months ago. In 1921 ….

(c) jaron summers 2021


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