Momma Benedetti Goes to the Hospital!

So, last week we get a call from my cousin, Angie, who lets us know that she’s not supposed to be telling us this, but Ma Benedetti’s in the hospital.

She’s not quite sure what’s ailing the little 86-year-old rompicoglioni (pain in the butt), but she’s not feeling her “feisty self” and the doctor thought it’d be best if she’d check-in to the local hospital to undergo some medical tests.

Uh-Hun.

So, my older brother, Anthony, “takes one for the team”, makes the long distance call to my Mom’s hospital room and connects with the vertically challenged Smurf, in her hospital room.

Yeah, I know, he’s a brave soul. (Either that or totally desensitized after years of Momma Benedetti’s truisms and motherly lies).

“How ya doin’?,” he gingerly asks, aware of the fact that he’s not supposed to know that she’s in the hospital.

“I’m great today,” she coyly replies. “How are you and Lucy (his wife) doing?” she continues.

“Oh swell,” he slowly answers.

Mindful that Ma is not going to be sharing too much of her medical issues with one of her off-springs, but sincerely concerned with her physical well-being and welfare, he bravely pushes on.

“So, Ma, what’s got ya feeling kinda sick these days?”

Cazzo,” she starts out. “So who’s the stoonod (idiot) that blabbed that I’m sick?”

“And just for the record,” she animatedly counters, “I’m not sick, got it?! So, don’t go telling your sisters and brother that I am, ok?”

“No, of course not, Mom,” he dutifully answers, totally aware of the fact that all of us know she’s in the hospital.

“Why would I do that? You’re in the hospital because you like the food and the ambiance. We all know how much you like the Jell-O and sleeping accommodations,” he continues teasing her and hoping that he gets her laughing and relaxed enough to spill the beans.

“Yeah,” she says, “the Jell-O is good, but the juice is nasty,” she continues.

“Your Grandfather’s old, home-made wine was sweeter tasting than this pee water they call cranberry juice,” she responds.

“How do you kids drink this sh-t?,” she inquires.

Madonna,” she continues. “This juice could put hair on a hair-less cat. It’s making me sick, just sipping it.”

“Well, Ma,” Anthony carefully interjects, “Maybe you should just ask for another kind of juice – one that isn’t so nasty for you, eh?”

Cazzo,” Ma sarcastically responds. “I’m so glad you went all those years to college, Anthony. My 86-year-old mind would have never thought of that on my own!”

Grazie a Dio per i miei figli (thank God for my kids),” she caustically continues. “I don’t know how I’d survive without you stoonods (idiots)!”

Uh-Hun.

“Ok,” my brother lovingly responds.

“I’ll let you get back to your Jell-O and nasty cranberry juice.”

“Call one of us, if you need us,” he continues, fully aware of the fact that she’ll die before she does that.

“Bye-bye,” she responds.

Ti amo (love you),” she quietly adds on and hangs up.

Yep.

Don’t always understand my Mom and her crazy ways, but of this I am 100 percent certain – she’d lay down her life for any one of her four children and loves us with all of her heart.

She frustrates me, drives me absolutely crazy, at times, and I wanna strangle her at other times, but I love her with all of my heart and pray that whatever time she has left on this earth, that she’s able to live it in her way, under her rules, and with her passion for life.

Have a blessed week, People, and remember – we can’t change anyone, but ourselves.

So unless you want to be totally frustrated, work on yourself, and change from the other guy will come soon enough.

Catch ya next adventure, looking at life from my shoes!

 

 

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Lucie Needs a Program!

Alrighty!

This weekend the Princess and I were out shopping and I told her that I needed some more socks and undies.

Now for those of you that intimately know me, you know I’m OCD about good socks and underwear.

God forbid if my undies have a tiny hole in them or are “stretched out and baggy” in any way. I don’t mind wearing ratty sweatshirts and painted sweat pants, but I draw the line with baggy, holey underwear.

No siree, Bob.

And don’t start me on socks.

I DETEST stretched out, holey socks.

As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I don’t do the “Pippi Longstocking” look.

Drives me batty when I see people walking around in public with flimsy, stretched-out sport socks flapping around their ankles.

Che schifo! (How disgusting!)

I don’t do “CHEAP, flimsy-looking” socks, either.

Especially sport socks.

And have you priced a pair of thorlo sport socks, lately, People? You need a second mortgage on your house, to purchase a pair.

I don’t have expensive clothing and jewelry, but if I get into an accident and get taken to the hospital, with my sport socks and undies still miraculously attached; at least the medics will be cutting into quality, well-made underwear and socks, to get to what’s remaining of my menopausal, puckered, (slightly) fluffy body parts.

So, anyway, I told the Princess that I needed some more of the Nike no show socks.

I didn’t like the look of the low cut socks that I was wearing with my new sneaks, and I needed more of the “no show” kind.

Uh-Hun.

So, the Princess gives me one of those “you gotta be kidding me looks” and sternly says, “Lucie, you’ve got 4 drawers of sport socks! You’re telling me you don’t have ANY low cut socks in those 4 drawers of socks?”

“No”, I innocently answer. “I didn’t say that. I said that I need more of the ‘no show’ kind.”

Uh-Hun.

“Lucie, she patiently responds, “I KNOW you’ve got the ‘no show’ kind. Have you gone through your sock drawers, lately?”

“Ma, che sei grullo! (How stupid are you?)” I answer.

“Who the hell has time to go through 4 drawers of socks to look for a particular kind of sock, for Pete’s sake?” I continue.

“I’m retired, not bored.”

Uh-Hun.

Well, I’m bored and decided to “organize my sock drawers” today, after buying 6 more pair of “no show” sport socks, People, and I shamefully stand before you a woman acutely in need of a sock intervention!

Yes, I can’t believe it, but I’m the Imelda Marcos of sport socks and desperately in need of an intervention program.

I’m sitting in the middle of 97 pair of multi-colored, various-styled sport socks that can be used for biking, hiking, skiing, snow shoeing, walking, gardening and a host of other activities, and have ONE (yes, you read correctly), ONE pair of nylons that I’ve had so long that I think they’re actually coming back into vogue, again.

Help!

Is there a 12-step recovery (sock) program for people like me?

Oh well, as my 99-year old Aunt Molly likes to say, “Cazzo, what ‘cha gonna do?”

Hope your 4th was filled with good food, the company of good friends, and much laughter.

Have a good week, People, and I’ll catch you next time, with another adventure, looking at life from MY shoes!