It isn’t fair. Why would I, short as I am, have a son over six feet tall whose nine-year-old son already plays basketball and is the tallest kid in his class?
On their recent visit, it was bandied about that Remy (grandson) is taller than me. Huh? ‘No way!’ I argued. (I know how to argue, I was on our high school debating team.) The day before they left for home, they had the two of us stand head to head to see. I stretched as high as I could, and little was said until…..
After safely back in San Francisco, son Rafi emailed me the proof. They had a photo showing Remy is, indeed, taller. Wisely, Rafi waited until he was safely home and far away from me to send it. I may have thrown something at him if he was close by when I first saw it. I’m still recovering. However, I’m afraid it’s official, I’m the shrimp in the family.
Chandra, my very thoughtful daughter-in-law, decided since I’d been dealing with knee pain, what I could use was a spa treatment. She arrived well equipped for the job. She and Remy worked together to give my son and me facials, plus wonderful foot and hand massages.
Chandra and Remy, the two ‘experts’, had decided I should recline in my recliner for my spa treat. Real people recline in recliners, but I had never done that before. Ordinarily I just raise the leg-support to ice my knee, but never lean back.
Meanwhile, Rafi, lying on a pillow on the floor for his own spa treatment, pulled out his cellphone when I wasn’t looking and took the following photo of me without my consent or knowledge.
I tried to be cooperative. You’d cooperate too if someone offered to spoil you rotten — and I have to admit, mother and son did a fantastic job of it. (They could go into business.) So, I tried, I really did, but had difficulty keeping the back of the recliner down. It kept rising on its own — poof –as if by magic. This led to much merriment and laughter and Remy had the additional job of pushing it down again and again.
First thing the following morning, dressed in the bright red robe Chandra bought for me, I was reluctant to wash my face — it felt so wonderfully good. That was when the kids probably took the photo that shows the painful truth — that I AM the shrimp of the family.
After the kids left, I was down in the laundry room chatting with my neighbor Mike, ordinarily a nice guy, who suggested the reason I couldn’t keep the recliner down was that I’m too short! Argghhh….
I should have worn high heels!