A Player to the End.Submitted by Ducky at 2008-04-04 23:56:55 EDT
Rating: 1.5 on 37 ratings (37 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
When he was a kid, my grandfather drank a bottle of whiskey, staggered into a tattoo parlour, and came out with a naked woman tattooed onto his forearm. Morning came around, and much to his dismay, he woke to find his sister standing over him and shrieking that it wasn’t godly, that thing on his arm…and he needed to get out of the house until he’d covered it up or she was telling their mum. He came back later that day, smiling smugly, with a skimpy bikini covering her naughty bits.
The next time his sister got drunk, he punched her in the face, dragged her to the tattoo parlour, and for a nice tip, had the tattoo artist tattoo a penis on her left ass cheek. In the morning, much to her chagrin, she awoke to find her brother standing over her. “Don’t talk to me about being ungodly” he said. Tattoos were never a subject in the house again.
I love my grandpa.
Unfortunately he has recently been placed, rather unceremoniously, into a home. It’s sort of depressing because despite being 87 he’s still got his wits about him. Mostly. Straight from Stirling, and with a mouth on him that would leave no doubt that he used to serve in the Navy.
I take him to pubs so that he can drink. They don’t encourage this in the home. I’ve been informed that the last time they allowed him to have beer in the common room, he had become so sexually forward with one of the nursing aides that he had to be restrained. Also, I try to steer clear because if I visit him in that room, there’s always a woman there named Sara who has some sort of elephantitis of the head (It’s fucking huge…I’ve never seen anything like it in my whole life). She is OBSESSED with my grandfather. She wheels in on her electric chair, sidles up next to him, rubs her great big head against his arm and drools on him as she watches him play dominoes. This is met with a groan and a look of sheer disgust. “Do ye see wha’ I hav’ ta deal wit’ here pet? Do ya?” he says, exasperated. When she wheels herself away he jabs me in the ribs and whispers, which for him is close to a battle cry “Didja see that monster?! Didja?? A beast like that belongs in Lochness!!!!” as though I hadn’t been sitting there the whole time.
Tactful, my grandfather is not.
At the pub, he acts like a complete letch…I help him through the doors, because even with his walker, he’s not always steady enough on his feet. Before we are seated, guaranteed, he will have asked at least two of the waitresses to come and sit on his lap. At the table, when our server comes over to us, she asks if we’d like a menu….
“NO, I’M WAITING FOR A BUS” he exclaims.
“Er…okay, I’ll be right…”.
He cuts her off…“DO I KNOW YOU? ARE WE MARRIED???”
“Er, noooo….I was just going to get you a….”
“WELL AREN’T YOU A CHEEKY LITTLE LASS, COME AND SIT ON MY KNEE. YOU NEED A RIGHT GOOD SPANKING”.
At this point, the waitress is looking at me to do something. Not likely. It went on from there. I don’t know how he managed…the age factor I guess, but he had her calling him “Scottie” before we left the pub – she even gave him a little kiss on the cheek.