Fiction: Eugenia's Birthday
By Julie C. Judes
Teeth in or out? That is the question. I know I should look “presentable” because it’s gonna be my 100th birthday party, but I always like to get a reaction from folks when I give a big gummy smile without ‘em. And, I’m gonna wear what I wanta wear, no question about that. No smocks, no long underwear, no robes. I’m gonna somehow get myself into that low cut sparkly pink number that I wore on my 35th birthday. So, maybe it’ll fit a bit different, but so long as I can get every part of me into it, who cares?
I sure hope that son Bertram of mine remembers to bring the batteries I asked for, told him they were for my alarm clock. Alarm clock, hah! I need ‘em for a different kind of wake-me-up, my vibrator, hidden in my knitting bag. Chester was way better, of course, but what kinda husband plays around with one of the nursing home assistants in the Recreation Room? I caught him red handed, or red whatever, and came at him with my knitting needles. They “relocated” him to a different room, away from me. Fine.
Birthday cake? I’m not particular, just so long as it’s got lots of flowers and frosting. They don’t bake ‘em like they used to, that’s for sure. I used to bake up a storm, myself. No need for candles on the cake. Can you imagine 100 candles on a cake, ruining all those pretty flowers? Plus, I’ve got the lung power of a gerbil now, couldn’t blow out one candle, much less 100.
The Happy Birthday song? No, thanks. “…..and many more of them, too.” Who are they kidding?
Gifts? I hope they don’t do the warm, fuzzy socks, the smelly scented hand creams, the bottles of prune juice tied up with fancy bows. Come on! I’m as regular as the cock crowing in the morning.
What do I want? Can’t go wrong with chocolates, that’s for sure. Chocolate covered coconut, chocolate covered raspberries, chocolate creams, chocolate truffles, chocolate covered orange peels, any kind of chocolates and I’m real happy. And something to drink with it. Grey Goose! Yeah! I’ve just got two bottles left under the bed, and they sure won’t last long.
Why are you staring at me? You’re not a bad looking young man, and you don’t look too bad in that Medical Assistant uniform. Hey! Waddya say we share some of that Grey Goose and get it on together!