25 Good Whizzes

So I'm off to see one more nursing home. Every time I go see one, it costs me $40 in babysitting and about one year off the end of my life. My stomach hurts, my palms sweat, I have to press the bones under my eyes to keep from crying. That last trick only works sometimes. Usually I have to adjourn to the marketing/sales office to make use of their copious boxes of kleenex. Believe me, I'm not the first overwrought crybaby to enter their portals.

Until today. Today, I toured a mid-range assisted living facility named Ambassador Manor here in Tulsa. Today, I met a 101 year-old man named George who liked to growl at the top of his voice. And cross his arms and rock somewhat violently back and forth. And fuss over his non-eaten chocolate chip cookie while his table mate complained that the wait staff hadn't removed his finished meal fast enough, even though "he'd been sitting there half an hour." But George. That rascal. When he caught sight of the Marketing Director he really gave him a piece of his mind.

"25. 25 good ones."

"Hey, George, how are you doing today?"

"I've had 25 good ones today."

"25 is a lot, George, that's just great," I piped in. I like to make connections with 101 year-olds. Actually, I'm not sure I've ever met a 101 year-old before.

"That's great, George. Congratulations."

"Yep. I've had 25 good whizzes today."

The Marketing Director and I looked at each other in stunned disbelief and promptly burst into laughter. I had to turn away. But George wasn't finished. With a rascally gleam in his eye, because he'd FINALLY gotten back at his nemesis-of-the-moment, he delivered his final threat:

"25 good whizzes, and they're all going to be on you."