Originally, this weekend was to celebrate Betty White’s 97th birthday. I’m a super fan. Totally adore the old broad. I once flew all the way to LA to see her.
Because she’s basically a distant relative, the Betty White marathon I had planned got forgot. I totally unremembered. I ended up having a Poirot marathon instead. Actually saw an episode I haven’t before. I feel like a really bad grandson.
I really do love you lots, just got a funny way of showing it.
Last week or so, Jackie mentioned in passing the death of her elderly neighbour. Having worked in funeral homes we both know a lot of dead old ladies. I, for one, didn’t think much more of it.
At the weekend, I popped round to see the sister and meet the father. Natter, natter — it’s time to leave. I head out, there’s a couple waiting by the lift and I curse slightly because a lot of the people in Jackie’s building are strange.
While we’re waiting for the lift, I counted all the black bags they had, divided by them, and found they had one more than they could carry. I thought I should show willing, do my civic duty, be kindness personified, and carry the extra bag. I also thought that this would speed the lift ordeal along a bit, so win-win!
The lift arrived, I grabbed the bag — they thanked me, a few pleasantries, I quipped: “Well, at least you’re travelling light!” Ha ha!
No laugh. They told me that they were clearing out their dead mum’s flat.
I said, “Ah” and remembered the dead neighbour. I cursed a bit, tried to back track. Ultimately, I stumbled over my words, told them to make sure they take time for themselves, carried the bag to the car, and scarpered.
So all in all, this weekend has been successful on the forgetful front.