My mother (81) is staying with me and my daughter (15) while my boyfriend is out of town. We always have fun together and probably laugh way louder than we should. Last week was no exception.
Mom wanted pizza for dinner. We went back and forth about where to go and agreed on one of our favorite haunts. It was a gorgeous day, so we sat outside and got some much-needed fresh air.
I always carry Wet Wipes in my purse and offered to give her one before dinner. She declined, assuring me she kept a stash of her own.
After a glorious meal, she and my daughter scampered off to get us some gelato. Mom opted for a waffle cone — a sticky alternative to my tiny cup and spoon — and proceeded to drip her way into a gooey abyss.
The two stayed busy, shoveling melted ice cream into their mouths and dripping all over their hands. I finished first and cleared the table to make things easy on the wait staff. My Wet Wipes were locked and loaded.
As my daughter was finishing up, my mother proceeded to wipe her hands. "I ran out of Wet Wipes," she blurts out, pointing to an opened packet of Vagisil Cleansing Cloths. "Sorry," she giggled, "I had to improvise."
But that's the funny part…
A few nights later, we took her to an Irish pub in the basement of an old building. The stairs leading to their front door are brick and quite steep, and grandma was concerned about walking back up after ordering her Mojito. Thankfully, our waitress informed us of an elevator in the back of the restaurant near the bathroom.
We had a lovely meal, laughing our asses off the entire time, my mother three sheets to the wind. When we finished, I told her to hang tight while my daughter and I used the restroom, but we passed her on the way out as she was going in to use it herself.
My mother staggered behind us near the elevator a few minutes later, asking if I got her package.
Me: What package?
Her: Oh, come on… don't act like you don't know.
Me: I have no idea what you're talking about. What package?
15yo: Yeah, Grandma, what package?
Her: *maniacal laughter* You guys are so full of shit.
Me: Mom, I have no idea what you're talking about. WHAT PACKAGE?
Her: So you're saying you didn't pick up 'the package' I slid under your stall?
Me: Omg, mom, I wasn't even IN the stall when you walked in. We weren't even in the bathroom!
*confusion* *blank stare* *hysterical laughter*
Her: Well, who the hell did I give my package too, then?
Me: How am I supposed to know? I don't even know what it was!
Her: I slid a packet of Vagisil under the stall with my foot and asked if you liked my package.
Me: Did you not look at the person's shoes first to make sure it was me?!
Her: Who the hell looks at someone's feet in the bathroom?
Me: Who the hell slides Vagisil underneath a bathroom stall and asks a complete stranger if they 'got the package?'
Her: Well, whoever it was, she took it because I checked the floor before leaving, and it was gone! I can't believe I wasted a good Vagisil on her. She could have at least thanked me.
Me: I doubt she wanted to stick around and make small talk with some lunatic promoting women's hygiene products in a bathroom stall during dinner.
Her: Still, she could have taken the time to thank me.
Me: Some strange lady slides a 'women's cleaning cloth' under a bathroom stall with her orthopedic shoe and asks if she likes her package? She was probably too scared!
My apologies to the woman in the third stall who was on the receiving end of my mother's failed prank. I hope your friends and family had a good laugh at her expense.
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