Suburban Goddess

When I was a teenager, my grandfather was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. As the disease progressed, he became unable to care for himself, and my mother & father decided that he would come live with us.

I never appreciated the man while he was alive. He was right there in my house, and I never got to know him because I was too self-absorbed with the drama of a teenage girl. I still regret that to this day, but there’s nothing I can really do about it, so I have to let it go. But I do have some really off-the-wall memories of the man, and one in particular has scarred me for life.

One morning, as I began my two-hour morning beauty ritual (when I look at pictures, I wish I’d spent LESS time worrying about it), I picked up my toothbrush to find it wet. I walked into the kitchen where my mother and grandfather were sitting.

“Did somebody use my toothbrush?” I asked in an accusatory tone.

“That’s MY toothbrush,” my grandfather said, pointing a shaky finger at me.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s mine, it’s PINK.”

“Oh. I thought it was mine. I’ve been using it for almost a month now.”

This entry was posted on February 15, 2007 at 11:23 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.