Date Night

(Warning! Warning! Several bodily functions disgustingly discussed herein! Read on at your own risk! But don’t say you weren’t warned!)

Last night was date night.

I know. We’re really romantic for a couple with thirty years of marriage behind us, aren’t we? So in tune with each other’s needs, so aware when the other craves a little break from the routine, a bit of time in which to do nothing more—or less—than be refreshed and renewed in the essence of each other’s company.

We spent ours in the ER with my mother, who—you might as well know—went Commando.

That’s right. It should be enough that for the past 18 years, since the dreadful fall up an icy curb in which Mom shattered both her elbows, she hasn’t worn a bra. No protests or burn piles were involved in Mom banishing the bra. She’s never been liberated, then or now. She just threw the darned thing in the trash and said good riddance.

So we deal. A braless mother is not the end of the world, people. We have learned to purchase blouses for her that help to prevent her bralessness from becoming common knowledge when she’s out and about, but is she concerned with such conventional niceties? No, she is not.

I have always remained hopeful, though, that no matter how long she lived, she’d wear panties.

In August, it will be two years since the horrible fall which caused Mom’s permanently broken humerus. When the occupational therapist got down to teaching Mom how to pull up her panties with one arm, I feared that the old gal would throw in the panty towel forever. But she persevered and all this time has managed quite well to continue to be underweared.

Last night the fire department called to say they’d gotten her into a chair after a nasty fall in which she managed to crash herself, her walker, and a tall fan on a stand onto the floor. To the ER nurse she said, “We were all tangled up together, the three of us. I guess you could say it was a…” And then I think she meant to say, because of her fabulous sense of humor, “menage-a-trois” (place accents correctly in your minds, please). But instead she glanced up at a sign on the wall and said, “I guess you could say it was a…triage.”

I knew what she meant. I always know what she means. The nurse did look at her a little funny, though.

It became clear during the course of the exam that she’s abandoned panties for the duration. I’d suspected as much in recent weeks, but the clincher comes when the pantyless person no longer expresses remorse or regret for their condition, when it becomes matter-of-fact and as ho-hum as yesterday’s coffee.

They took her for x-rays of her left hand, her right foot, and her right pelvic area. Nothing broken, thank God, just a badly bruised Mama chick. While waiting for the results of the tests (and I’ll just throw in here that between Doug’s mom and mine, we’ve tallied four falls in the past week alone), I came down with a violently painful gas attack.

Gas is a subject of endless fascination with my mother, whereas if I even said the word “gas” to Doug’s mom, she would croak of embarassment. Saying the word gas to my mother makes her feel included, like you really, really love and accept her for who she is. And like you trust her with your shortcomings, your weaknesses, and your hopes and dreams for a prosperous future.

But in describing my situation to her, I went too far.

“Oh, my gosh! I am in excruciating pain here!”

“Katy, what is it?” she asked, genuinely concerned, which is good for her because it helps minimize her own complaints. I was only thinking of her, after all. (That’s what date nights are for…)

“Mom! It’s horrible! Doug, it’s that thing that happens, you know? When a bunch of gas gets trapped and accumulates around an ovary….”

“An OVARY!” Mom exclaimed. “If I had EVER said the word OVARY to my husband, why! He would have dropped dead on the SPOT!”

“But, Mom,” I said, trying to calm her agitation, “he did drop dead on the spot. Twenty-three years ago today, in fact.”

“Oh…I hadn’t thought of that. I do think of it several times throughout the year, but I hadn’t actually thought of it today. But I’ll tell you one thing I’ve thought of. No husband wants to hear the word ovary, EVER.”

“What am I supposed to say, then? I don’t have a uterus…”

“UTERUS!!! If I had EVER said the word UTERUS to my husband…”

“I know, Mom. He would have dropped dead on the spot.”

“That’s right. Why, I didn’t even know what those things WERE, and I still don’t, actually. We didn’t need to know those words, and we sure didn’t need to say them.”

“OK, Mom. I’ve got a word for you. How about PANTIES? Do you know what THOSE are?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will you PLEASE start wearing them so we don’t have to have this conversation EVER, EVER again?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not going to lie to you. It’s probably not going to happen.”

That, my friends, is what date night’s really all about. Closeness, shared feelings, intimacy.

And even, for some folks, an unapologetic absence of panties.

Posted by Katy on 04/20/07 at 12:33 PM

Fallible Comments...

Katy - I know you're working on a novel, but I just have to say that your experiences with your mom would make a rip-roaring, hilarious memoir! And I would be first in line to buy it.
Posted by Carrie K. on 04/20/07 at 04:59 PM
This is hilarious, but I feel guilty laughing about it, because it's such a difficult thing to actually deal with.

Hang in there, girl! Give yourselves another date night this week.
Posted by Suzan on 04/20/07 at 05:04 PM
Carrie K--I would be pleased to sell it to you! Better yet, to hand off the whole crazy experience--for free! That's how generous I'm feeling. Just kidding. My current novel has a demented aunt who is quite a riot. She will play heavily into the next book, probably pulling some of the same stunts my mother has. Gotta use this stuff somehow!

Suzan--Please, laugh!!! The only way I can deal with it is to get whatever laughs I can out of the situations. To do otherwise would be to sink into the slough of despond, a place I'd rather not go..... :)
Posted by Katy on 04/20/07 at 06:33 PM
Can you tell us what your book is about or is it top secret? I love really good characters.
Posted by Anna on 04/20/07 at 07:04 PM
It's good you can laugh about it some! It has to be so hard. I hope things get better...*hugs*
Posted by Aithyne on 04/22/07 at 08:17 PM
I couldn't sleep, so I started reading blogs. I think that might finish me off. I'm sorry I couldn't stop laughing.
Posted by Beverly on 04/23/07 at 03:41 AM
Too funny! Loved this post. Shared your site with my mom. She loved it too. You've a real gift for writing humor. Keep up the great work!
Posted by Annette Smith on 04/23/07 at 01:06 PM
Anna--Nothing top secret here!! It's the story of a baby boomer whose lines of communication with her husband--wireless though they may be--are way more tangled than those of her troubled-marriage radio show callers. It's kind of a middle-age-crisis romantic comedy. I'll keep you posted!

Aithyne--You are so sweet! We do have short reprieves in the Mama department. But bodies and minds in gradual decline do seem to keep going in the same direction. Laughing about it all really does help!!

Beverly--I hope you slept well after your chuckle!!! :)

Annette--I am reading "A Bigger Life" right now!!! Love it! And very much appreciate your encouragement, especially knowing your background as a hospice nurse. Thank you!
Posted by Katy on 04/23/07 at 01:24 PM
This is exactly what my daughters fear for me. No matter how much they may deny it, they see themselves someday pushing their underwear-less mother around in a wheelchair, all of us wearing matching wigs. That is probably why they keep emailing me brochures from nursing homes and asking me to pick one.
Posted by alison on 04/24/07 at 07:42 PM
alison--My kids are scared, too. I'll never forget the day we told my youngest son and his new bride (who's watched me deal with The Moms) that Doug and I have purchased long-term care insurance. "THANK YOU!" she said. I still laugh about that!
Posted by Katy on 04/25/07 at 05:19 PM
I'm dealing with just one mother, though her falls keep us plenty busy.

She has had a mastectomy and in the days that she still wore a prosthesis, would sometimes "whip it out" and throw it across the room at some unsuspecting soul!
Posted by Terri on 04/25/07 at 11:55 PM
Terri--Oh, dear Lord!! I don't know if even my mother would have thought of that! She does abandon medical equipment left and right, though. Goes AMA with regularity. She was instructed to keep her broken arm in a brace thingie for the rest of her life to "stabilize" it. She got sick of it one day and tossed it. Now she's decided no more CPAP maching, which she's used for five years. That one worries me, but if she decides to be non-compliant, I don't exactly know what to do. I wish she could whip out something non-essential and throw it!
Posted by Katy on 05/01/07 at 07:48 PM
That's probably one of the funniest things I've ever read. Luke would die on the spot if I said panties in the same sentence as old lady. On the spot!
Posted by galadriel on 05/04/07 at 10:06 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Date Night (Warning! Warning! Several bodily functions disgustingly discussed herein! Read on at your own risk! But don’t say you weren’t warned!) Last night was date night. I know. We’re really romantic for a couple with thirty years of marriage behind us, aren’t we? So in tune with each other’s needs, so aware when the other craves a little break from the routine, a bit of time in which to do nothing more—or less—than be refreshed and renewed in the essence of each other’s company. We spent ours in the ER with my mother, who—you might as well know—went Commando. That’s right. It should be enough that for the past 18 years, since the dreadful fall up an icy curb in which Mom shattered both her elbows, she hasn’t worn a bra. No protests or burn piles were involved in Mom banishing the bra. She’s never been liberated, then or now. She just threw the darned thing in the trash and said good riddance. So we deal. A braless mother is not the end of the world, people. We have learned to purchase blouses for her that help to prevent her bralessness from becoming common knowledge when she’s out and about, but is she concerned with such conventional niceties? No, she is not. I have always remained hopeful, though, that no matter how long she lived, she’d wear panties. In August, it will be two years since the horrible fall which caused Mom’s permanently broken humerus. When the occupational therapist got down to teaching Mom how to pull up her panties with one arm, I feared that the old gal would throw in the panty towel forever. But she persevered and all this time has managed quite well to continue to be underweared. Last night the fire department called to say they’d gotten her into a chair after a nasty fall in which she managed to crash herself, her walker, and a tall fan on a stand onto the floor. To the ER nurse she said, “We were all tangled up together, the three of us. I guess you could say it was a…” And then I think she meant to say, because of her fabulous sense of humor, “menage-a-trois” (place accents correctly in your minds, please). But instead she glanced up at a sign on the wall and said, “I guess you could say it was a…triage.” I knew what she meant. I always know what she means. The nurse did look at her a little funny, though. It became clear during the course of the exam that she’s abandoned panties for the duration. I’d suspected as much in recent weeks, but the clincher comes when the pantyless person no longer expresses remorse or regret for their condition, when it becomes matter-of-fact and as ho-hum as yesterday’s coffee. They took her for x-rays of her left hand, her right foot, and her right pelvic area. Nothing broken, thank God, just a badly bruised Mama chick. While waiting for the results of the tests (and I’ll just throw in here that between Doug’s mom and mine, we’ve tallied four falls in the past week alone), I came down with a violently painful gas attack. Gas is a subject of endless fascination with my mother, whereas if I even said the word “gas” to Doug’s mom, she would croak of embarassment. Saying the word gas to my mother makes her feel included, like you really, really love and accept her for who she is. And like you trust her with your shortcomings, your weaknesses, and your hopes and dreams for a prosperous future. But in describing my situation to her, I went too far. “Oh, my gosh! I am in excruciating pain here!” “Katy, what is it?” she asked, genuinely concerned, which is good for her because it helps minimize her own complaints. I was only thinking of her, after all. (That’s what date nights are for…) “Mom! It’s horrible! Doug, it’s that thing that happens, you know? When a bunch of gas gets trapped and accumulates around an ovary….” “An OVARY!” Mom exclaimed. “If I had EVER said the word OVARY to my husband, why! He would have dropped dead on the SPOT!” “But, Mom,” I said, trying to calm her agitation, “he did drop dead on the spot. Twenty-three years ago today, in fact.” “Oh…I hadn’t thought of that. I do think of it several times throughout the year, but I hadn’t actually thought of it today. But I’ll tell you one thing I’ve thought of. No husband wants to hear the word ovary, EVER.” “What am I supposed to say, then? I don’t have a uterus…” “UTERUS!!! If I had EVER said the word UTERUS to my husband…” “I know, Mom. He would have dropped dead on the spot.” “That’s right. Why, I didn’t even know what those things WERE, and I still don’t, actually. We didn’t need to know those words, and we sure didn’t need to say them.” “OK, Mom. I’ve got a word for you. How about PANTIES? Do you know what THOSE are?” “Yes, I do.” “Will you PLEASE start wearing them so we don’t have to have this conversation EVER, EVER again?” She hesitated for a moment. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not going to lie to you. It’s probably not going to happen.” That, my friends, is what date night’s really all about. Closeness, shared feelings, intimacy. And even, for some folks, an unapologetic absence of panties. Posted by Katy on 04/20/07 at 12:33 PM Fallible Comments... Katy - I know you're working on a novel, but I just have to say that your experiences with your mom would make a rip-roaring, hilarious memoir! And I would be first in line to buy it. Posted by Carrie K. on 04/20/07 at 04:59 PM This is hilarious, but I feel guilty laughing about it, because it's such a difficult thing to actually deal with. Hang in there, girl! Give yourselves another date night this week. Posted by Suzan on 04/20/07 at 05:04 PM Carrie K--I would be pleased to sell it to you! Better yet, to hand off the whole crazy experience--for free! That's how generous I'm feeling. Just kidding. My current novel has a demented aunt who is quite a riot. She will play heavily into the next book, probably pulling some of the same stunts my mother has. Gotta use this stuff somehow! Suzan--Please, laugh!!! The only way I can deal with it is to get whatever laughs I can out of the situations. To do otherwise would be to sink into the slough of despond, a place I'd rather not go..... :) Posted by Katy on 04/20/07 at 06:33 PM Can you tell us what your book is about or is it top secret? I love really good characters. Posted by Anna on 04/20/07 at 07:04 PM It's good you can laugh about it some! It has to be so hard. I hope things get better...hugs Posted by Aithyne on 04/22/07 at 08:17 PM I couldn't sleep, so I started reading blogs. I think that might finish me off. I'm sorry I couldn't stop laughing. Posted by Beverly on 04/23/07 at 03:41 AM Too funny! Loved this post. Shared your site with my mom. She loved it too. You've a real gift for writing humor. Keep up the great work! Posted by Annette Smith on 04/23/07 at 01:06 PM Anna--Nothing top secret here!! It's the story of a baby boomer whose lines of communication with her husband--wireless though they may be--are way more tangled than those of her troubled-marriage radio show callers. It's kind of a middle-age-crisis romantic comedy. I'll keep you posted! Aithyne--You are so sweet! We do have short reprieves in the Mama department. But bodies and minds in gradual decline do seem to keep going in the same direction. Laughing about it all really does help!! Beverly--I hope you slept well after your chuckle!!! :) Annette--I am reading "A Bigger Life" right now!!! Love it! And very much appreciate your encouragement, especially knowing your background as a hospice nurse. Thank you! Posted by Katy on 04/23/07 at 01:24 PM This is exactly what my daughters fear for me. No matter how much they may deny it, they see themselves someday pushing their underwear-less mother around in a wheelchair, all of us wearing matching wigs. That is probably why they keep emailing me brochures from nursing homes and asking me to pick one. Posted by alison on 04/24/07 at 07:42 PM alison--My kids are scared, too. I'll never forget the day we told my youngest son and his new bride (who's watched me deal with The Moms) that Doug and I have purchased long-term care insurance. "THANK YOU!" she said. I still laugh about that! Posted by Katy on 04/25/07 at 05:19 PM I'm dealing with just one mother, though her falls keep us plenty busy. She has had a mastectomy and in the days that she still wore a prosthesis, would sometimes "whip it out" and throw it across the room at some unsuspecting soul! Posted by Terri on 04/25/07 at 11:55 PM Terri--Oh, dear Lord!! I don't know if even my mother would have thought of that! She does abandon medical equipment left and right, though. Goes AMA with regularity. She was instructed to keep her broken arm in a brace thingie for the rest of her life to "stabilize" it. She got sick of it one day and tossed it. Now she's decided no more CPAP maching, which she's used for five years. That one worries me, but if she decides to be non-compliant, I don't exactly know what to do. I wish she could whip out something non-essential and throw it! Posted by Katy on 05/01/07 at 07:48 PM That's probably one of the funniest things I've ever read. Luke would die on the spot if I said panties in the same sentence as old lady. On the spot! Posted by galadriel on 05/04/07 at 10:06 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Toe Gross-Out! Previous entry: DNR << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Date Night

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri