Who Dat Be?

As Helen would say in her brogue Southern African American vernacular.  A car pulled up in front of my house and blew the horn several times. “Who  in the hell is that?” I asked Maggie as I looked out the window. Maggie seemed nonchalant about the whole endeavor.  It was Mrs. Sandra bringing my Mexican meal.  I finally got with the program and walked to the road to get my fajitas.   Mom was sitting in the passenger’s side of Sandra’s van and told me she couldn’t get my father’s Honda to crank.  

“What are you doing trying to drive dad’s CR-V?” I asked amused.

“I knocked the other mirror off of my car driving out of the garage and it is at the body shop getting fixed,” mom said matter-of-factly.  “Your daddy was about to kill me.”

I couldn't help but grin.  My mother is hell on wheels and sporting a Marge Simpson hairdo.  You can’t miss her coming.

The Doctor is In…

Dad has just left after the medication ritual.  He was remarking on how spritely Maggie seemed after two weeks of very strong antibiotics. 

“She takes her last amoxicillin  tomorrow,” I told my father as he handed me my handful of crazy meds.   “It has really brought out the puppy in her she feels so much better.”

Maggie’s eyes and ear infection are gone and she no longer smells of yeast from the nasty yeast infection she endured for far too long.