Since I am currently homeless (the WWM project just sunk its fangs into another $110K of my money last Friday) and living alternately with this and that adult daughter (and their families), my daughters each have solutions to “fix me”.
|Amanda, husband and my youngest
grandson at Disneyland yesterday
Yes I’m getting old, or perhaps I am old? And I take medication to keep myself alive… but they feel that I can be fixed. My body can be repaired, much like an old Ford left rusting in a field.
Both older daughters are heavily into homeopathic solutions and I’m not saying that they’re wrong. It’s just that the witches’ brew that they want me to drink have a less than perfect reaction. I have explained cause and effect. They consult books.
“But Dad, your liver is possibly toxic and needs to be purged.” The argument has merits. I suspect that some of my fellow bloggers may also have toxic livers, but am no more willing to turn my daughters loose on you than Fredd is disposed to feed you food made by his Aunt Sally.
I suggested a liver transplant but the girls argue, “You don’t know where that liver has been”. Full disclosure, the MD that I go to says that my liver is fine. The girls, thrilled to “practice medicine”, have volumes, written by people that I’ve never heard of suggest otherwise.
Thus, I lend my body to science and their tinkering with chemistry. Not all scientists are mad and I have to admit that coming out the other side like Frankenstein (possibly the Mel Brooks variety) has advantages over the current state of affairs… particularly at Halloween. People have told me, “LL, you don’t need a mask to scare children.” All well and good.
I suggest that the purgatives could also be taken by my son-in-law (above). My daughter tearfully explains that he has refused her amateur medical treatments to date. This tells me that he’s a lot smarter than I am.