Another year of that and she was sure she’d go mad. After all, you can only handle so much.
“Mr. Hubble, this is what you asked for.” she insisted.
“No!” the old man barked back at her. “I wanted the vanilla ice cream with cherries. The kind Ike always liked.”
She turned around, went into the kitchen, and had the cook prepare the vanilla ice cream with cherries. Ten minutes later, she came back.
“Here you go, Mr. Hubble. Just as you requested,” she said trying to put on the sweetest smile she could.
“What are you talkin’ about broad?” Mr. Hubble yelled. “I don’t want nothin’. Get out of my face! Wheel’s about to start.”
Every day it was like this for her. The old, decrepit, end-of-life portion of society kept frustrating her. Sometimes, she thought she was the one with Alzheimer’s.
She needed a break and sat in a chair next to the picturesque window. The trees swayed outside and children play on a playground in the distance. She rocked in her chair, back and forth, back and forth.
“Mrs. Hubble,” a voice said from behind her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Here’s that vanilla ice cream with cherries. Just like your husband always liked.”
“Now why would I want that,” she said. “I always hated that man.”
Another year of this and she was sure she’d go mad.