The Iron LadyPosted: April 9, 2013
The Iron Lady
“Did you hear about Hillary Clinton?” Mom said as Bill and I came into the house from getting our car serviced followed by a banana run.
“No, what about her?” I called from the kitchen as we put the grocery bags on the counter.
“She died,” Mom shouted back at us.
Bill just rolled his eyes and shook his head. I stuck my head out the kitchen door. “When did you hear that?”
“While you were getting your car fixed,” she said. “It was on the news. I had no idea she was 87.”
“It was an oil change, not a repair. Who was 87? Hillary Clinton?” I asked, coming into the room. “She’s not 87.”
“That’s what they said. She was 87 and died of dementia.”
The light bulb suddenly went off inside my head. “That wasn’t Hillary Clinton, Mom, it was Margret Thatcher that died.”
“Well I don’t think so. They said she was the Iron Maiden or something and I thought that’s what they called Hillary.”
“No, it’s the Iron Lady and that’s what they called Margret Thatcher.”
“Oh, okay then, that makes more sense. I didn’t think Hillary Clinton was my age.”
“She’s not. She’s closer to my age than yours,” I said as I returned to the kitchen.
“Oh, and the British Prime Minister died too,” she called out. “First the Iron Woman and then the Prime Minister.”
“It’s a sad day for the Brits,” I said.
“And for the English too,” she replied.