Wrinkles.

If you've got a light stomach don't proceed with this entry. If you're hungry for a potential few laughs? Be my guest.

We don't have air-conditioning here. There are two refrigerator air units; one located in my great-grandma's bedroom, which is in a rather enclosed area so it doesn't help to circulate throughout the house, and one located in this enormously huge den area. I'm not sure what to call this area. It's got the pool table, aka my bed, a huge screen TV, a few couches (which also serve as beds) and then at the far end by the window that lets in dust and bugs the desk I'm currently sitting at with my netbook. The air from the cooler hardly reaches where I'm at. And that's with two ceiling fans constantly being on in an attempt to circulate the air. It honestly gets unbearably hot here. I don't mean to complain, I really don't, but you can't tell me that I don't have a right when it's triple digit heat outside. On top of the fact that these oldies are so forgetful they don't remember they need to keep the front and back doors closed lest they let out the cold air.

One day, I was sitting here at the desk minding my own business trying to write when I hear a noise from the kitchen. It's relatively late at night by this point and it's not like anyone else is in the house so I know it's got to be Grandma, right? Well, I wander on over to see if she's alright and what do I see? Grandma standing with a cup of coffee in nothing but a slip. Not even a full covering slip. It's a slip that goes up to her waist, and she's just standing there like it's no big deal for all of her business to be hanging, literally, out for the world to see. To put the nail in the coffin? She talks to me as if it's completely normal. I couldn't stop laughing once I sat down. I didn't know whether to be shocked by this or not. Meanwhile Tillie is yelling at me to turn off the fans because "she's sweating and she's going to get pneumonia". Does that make sense? It doesn't to me. At all, in fact. "Tillie, you're sweating because you need the fan on!" - "No! I'm going to get sick and then you're going to have to take care of me!" How in the world am I supposed to be able to accomodate both of them when I'm dying of heat myself?

The next night I wander up to the upstairs bathroom seeing as there are only two bathrooms in the entire house. Everyone pretty much knows the downstairs one is Grandma's domain and needs to be open at all times because who knows when she's going to want to have a cigarette or horde ice cream when she thinks no one is paying attention. Tillie's room, when she's not on the couch downstairs, is up there. She's taken over two rooms, actually. But her room is close to the bathroom. Anyway, I check in on her just to make sure she's okay and again... another sight to behold. She's laying sprawled out in the bed in all her four-foot something glory with a blanket wrapped around her naked self as if she's some beached mermaid or something. Even writing this right now I can't stop laughing over it. And then she just grunts in her sleep and rolls over. By this point I take it as my cue to run to the bathroom in case the mermaid's swaddling cloth decides to slip.

Wrinkles, my lovelies, wrinkles. Lots and lots of wrinkles. I'll leave you with that thought.