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Arranging joint custody with my siblings

Let’s face it. None of us actually want to look after Mom. I mean, she was very hard on us growing up, taking us to the thrift store when we asked for designer shoes and suggesting we get jobs to help pay for college, but it’s our duty as her children to look after her in her old age. At least, so I’ve read.

That’s why I called this meeting. I’ve already outlined everything that needs to be done. As the eldest and most mature, I’m obviously in the best position to determine what Mom requires.

And what Mom requires is to move out of the home she raised us in, so we can turn a nice profit.

We all know that we can’t put her in a Home. Sure, those places offer full-time care, socialization, and purposeful hobbies, but have you seen the cost of them? She’d burn through that house money in no time.

So here’s my plan.

First of all, Mom clearly can’t live with me. Yes, I’m in a four-bedroom luxury penthouse, but the extra rooms are taken up for my home office, personal gym, and Mitzy, my teacup chihuahua. And since I travel globally as a partner at my firm, that leaves you two. Alice, as a stay-at-home mother, you’re the obvious choice because you have nothing to do when the kids are at school. Besides, Charley, you keep setting fire to every place you live in.

We know that it will cost a bit extra to care for Mom. While she claims it’s for “pain relief”, her weed habit does not come cheap, and stocking Munchos adds up. Alice, we’re giving you the chance to finally make some of your own cash, so half of Mom’s government pension will go to you each month. Charley, I know that you’re going to complain about “being shut out of the money”, but you’re already turning a nice profit as her Mary Jane supplier.

Of course, we’ll all pitch in. I’ll definitely try to call Mom once every third week or so, as long as I’m not too swamped with meetings or spa appointments. The rest of the time, Alice, you’re on your own. You may want to get a bigger car. Your current one may be good enough to get to your volunteer “job” at the food bank twice a week, but Mom’s walker won’t fit into it.

Charley, you won’t be of much use here either, since you set your car on fire.

Now, we do need someone to cover if Alice takes a vacation. Alice, I sincerely trust that never happens, because it would be incredibly selfish of you, but if so, Charley, this is where you come in. You’ll stay at Alice’s house with Mom. And Alice, before you object to Charley’s disgusting habit of clipping his toenails at the kitchen table, remember that he will be doing you a favour. Charley, you just have to keep Mom alive and the house unscorched.

I believe I’ve covered everything, although sadly, we know Mom will eventually get worse. That will be heartbreaking, because we may have to dip into our inheritance to care for her.

Alice, we need you to do your part to keep the estate money in the family. You’re a mother, so you should already know how to do that caregiver stuff. Give her those sippy cup things and buy her some pullups. Throw her in the bathtub with the kids. Get creative for once, this is your real job now.

It feels right that we’re all pulling together like this and I’ve never felt closer to you both. Alice, I’m going to drop Mom at your place tomorrow on my way to the airport. I’m heading to Dubai for the next 9 months. I’ll try to remember to check in when I return.

I mean, obviously, if Mom dies, leave me a message immediately. I’ll certainly rush back to sign the estate papers, and make sure the lawyers have properly calculated my executor fee.

***

This piece originally appeared in Jane Austen’s Wastebasket on Medium.

DEAR WEIRDISH:

I’m 26 years old, and I’ve fallen in love for the first time. Of course, I’ve dated many girls, but they’ve all felt so young and the only thing they care about is whether their fake ID will work.

This time, though, it’s different. I’ve found myself a real woman.

I’ve been best friends with Dylan forever, but it wasn’t until his grandpa died that I realized how hot his grandmother is. And I know she’s 87, but nowadays they say age doesn’t matter. We have a May-December-December-December romance. Besides, we grew up knowing each other, like childhood sweethearts, except, of course, only one of us was a child.

I’m worried, however, how to tell Dylan that we’re together. He probably never realized how much of a GILF his grandma is.

You see, Nana is beyond cool. We love to go shuffling and she has amazing stamina, as long as I have her home by 8:30. Her cane gets in the way on the dance floor, but it’s way better than bringing her walker.

Sometimes we just stay home and rifle through old photos. She tells me I remind her of Papa when he was a young man and I let her call me Vernon for the rest of the night.

Once a month she sees a dementia doctor. For now, it’s just a routine visit, and we always go out for dinner afterward. We can usually snag the 3:00 early bird special with Nana’s senior discount.

Then we stroll to the corner store where she buys me a treat.

She’s teaching me to crochet a cover for my guitar case. I doubt she’d like my music, but it’s okay because she can’t hear it anyway. I crank up Metallica in the car, and she just smiles and gazes out the window, a string of drool slightly dampening the front of her polyester blouse.

Her eyesight is not so great either, but it means she doesn’t notice the embarrassing zit that keeps popping up on my right cheek. Not that she’d care anyway, it’s always the left one she pats when she’s pleased with me.

It makes me so horny.

I would never tell Dylan this, but Nana and I have a special signal whenever we want to have sex. She slips her teeth out and puts them in the green glass instead of the red one. Although, she is color blind, which is maybe why she seems startled when I blow out the candle and begin loosening her curlers. But as long as her sleep medication hasn’t kicked in, she’s game. And the things that granny can do with her gums!

Now I get why so many guys my age love mature women. It’s true that they know exactly what they want in the bedroom. Nana wants to make sure I don’t break her hip.

I have to admit that things are getting serious. Last night, after our Thursday bridge game with Marge and Nellie, she told me she loved me. That I was more than “like a grandson” to her. I broke down and told her she was more than “like a grandmother” to me.

We’re going to celebrate with a bus trip to the mall where they have that magical train ride.

But before that, I have to tell Dylan. The sneaking around is killing me, especially now that we’re ready to take our relationship to the next level.

That is, if the nursing home will let me move in.

Sincerely,

YOUNG CUB

**************

Dear YOUNG CUB,

It’s great you found real love, and I hope you have months of happiness before she forgets who you are. My own wife was 78 years older than me. We only had a year together before she died at 103, and although she was also my great, great aunt, I still had to be gentle when announcing our relationship to the family. You sound like a sensitive guy. Dylan would be lucky to have you as his new Papa.

You might want to stand back

My buddy rawdogged his flight to Ashgabat last week. Hell, I knew I could do better. So I’m rawdogging my whole day.

I start by rawdogging caffeine, taking it black and stopping at twelve cups.

After coffee, I walk my borzoi. No phone. No poop bags. When he takes a big dump I just grind it into the pavement with my boot.

In the park I see a guy that might be dead, but then I figure he’s probably rawdogging it too, laying on the hard pavement like that. Respect.

It’s pouring but I’m bareboning the weather — no umbrella, just me and the pooch and a shit ton of rain, and maybe some sleet ’cause I’ve got pockmarks on my face now.

My dinner dishes from last night are still in the sink. I wash them without any water. Or dishcloth. I try to pick the burnt grease off with my nail, but I have to spit on the plate to loosen it.

I have a meeting at 10. I have no idea who it’s with or what we’re supposed to be talking about.

Turns out it was my performance review. Shit. The bad news is, I was fired, but the good news is I rawdogged the hell out of that meeting, man! Couldn’t even think of one good thing I had done all year.

My afternoon’s now free, so I go to the gym. Not even gonna lift weights. Just walk around and ask people how much they weigh. Then pick them up.

I’ve been kicked out but they’re letting me shower first. Barefoot of course, no slides for this guy.

I may or may not have a fungal infection now. Christ, my big toe hurts.

Dinner is chicken. Raw. Just ripped open that package with my teeth and now I’m eating it straight out of the tray.

Watching the game. Without any beer. If that ain’t rawdogging, I don’t know what is.

Second period, and my gut is exploding. Stuff is coming out both ends. A chunk of my white sectional is now garbage, but I was able to puke directly onto my coffee table, saving the rug.

can’t make it to the bedroom

have to crawl

or not

think I’ll just lay here on the floor

rawdogging it.