Last night I was talking with my brother on the phone. He has been in assisted living since October. His Parkinson’s has gotten to be too much to live at home – he needs too much help. While I was on the phone, someone came in the room, my brother asked me to hold while he talked with her. She called him “Sweet Pea.” Sweet Pea? My brother got back on the phone and I asked him “Did she really call you Sweet Pea?” He said I would not believe the things people call him in this place. My brother is the kind of guy who has always been Mr. G. I can understand that they might want to call him by his first name, but Sweet Pea? Seriously?
I so don’t want to get old. The best I can do is take good care of myself now. Beyond that, it’s all luck and genetics. I don’t want to be called sweet pea, honey, sweetie, or darlin’. My name is Mary.
Kind of reminds me of that wonderful old song written by Elvis Costello and Paul McCartney….