To Much Information

Our friend, Gisella, lost her wonderful, sweet husband, Wes, to Alzheimer’s a few months ago. It was hard for a while, but, after spending years caring for him as his mind and body deteriorated, his final passing was more final closure than sudden loss because Wes, the man she’d married and loved, had slipped away long before his ultimate death. Several weeks ago, however, she met a very nice widower who has taken quite a fancy to our feisty German friend. Bob also lost his wife to the same awful disease so they have developed a bond that started with their shared experiences as caregivers and has evolved into quiet, comfortable companionship.

They’re both in their mid-seventies, so I never gave any thought to anything beyond what seemed to be a platonic relationship until Gisella announced that she and Bob were going away for three days to Laughlin, Nevada for some long overdue fun for the both of them. I figured the good times would consist of a few dollars in the penny slots, some quarters in the Poker machines, maybe a couple of Keno bets and a possible spin on the roulette wheel, along with all-you-can-eat dinner buffets and breakfast bars. As is frequently the case, I was wrong.

I headed over to her house the afternoon before they were due to leave so that I could get the low-down on the care and feeding of Buddy, Gisella’s cat. After being shown where the wet and dry food was and where the refrigerated bottle labeled “Cat Water” was, she said, somewhat conspiratorially, that she had something to show me. I followed her back to her bedroom where her suitcase was opened on the bed and appeared to be half packed.

“My friend, Lizbeth, got this for me,” she whispered, as though someone else – like the next door neighbor – could hear her through the wall. She dug around the carefully packed items until she extracted something wrapped in bright pink colored tissue paper. As she lay it on top of the packed clothes, I held my breath, anticipating the worst and thinking, ‘Too much information. Too much information.’ as she uncovered it and held it up by its thin spaghetti straps.

“What do you think?” she asked expectantly. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Noooo,’ my brain screamed as the hot pink and white sequined sateen and nylon baby doll top fluttered in front of my face, searing itself into my brain forever.

“And this is the bottom,” she continued, whipping out a matching hot pink thong, respite with a sequined white flower on the front and a lacy white bow on the back. She placed it between her hips, swaying side to side in, what I can only imagine, was her idea of a seductive shimmy.

“Gisella,” I said, clearing my throat. “You’ve got it backwards.”

“What,” she said, looking down, past her somewhat ample belly, to the half-inch wide T-strap of the thong’s back. “No, I think this is right,” she continued, holding it up at eye level and turning it around. “See, this triangle part covers your butt.”

“No, it covers your front and the strap in back goes… well, it just goes in back,” I mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to flush unwanted images from my mind.

“Well that doesn’t make any sense,” she huffed, plucking at the fabric like a guitar string. ”So, does that mean that this…” she said, reaching back into the tissue wrap and extracting more pink fabric. “poochy part is the front?”

“Gisella!” I exclaimed. “That’s a G-string. For a guy. You aren’t going to give this to…”

“Oh, I don’t know if I will or if I won’t. We’ll have to see how things go, you know?” she said with a wink, twirling the G-string around her finger.

I made up a hasty excuse – something like I have to get home because Bill’s got elbow warts and needs me – and fled. When I walked into the office, I must have looked distressed because he asked if I was okay.

“No, I’m not,” I murmured, plopping down in my chair. “Gisella’s taking what has to be, the ugliest, gaudiest, unsexiest negligee I’ve ever seen on this trip. And now, I’ve got visions of the two of them flopping around their room at the Belle in pink sateen and sequins and that picture will never, ever, EVER go away.”

“Okay then,” he muttered with a flinch, turning around and hunching over his keyboard. “Too much information. Too much information.”

negligee granny



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