My Abuela, the Cougar
Today’s post is going to be a short one because I’m on senior-sitting detail all day. My parents are headed to Toms River to bring my grandfather back to Philadelphia, which means that Abuela and I are going to have the house all to ourselves.
We’re still considering our options at this point but I think we’re going to have a party. Why? Well, to put it frankly, my grandmother is becoming a cougar.
I don’t think she even realizes it (that’s the beauty of Alzheimer’s) but you should see her when we’re out in public.
Take Wednesday, for example. I had to go to the bank to deposit some checks and I brought her along with me because she’s training to be a long-distance walker for the next Olympics. (At least that’s the only possibly explanation I can come up with.)
Our particularly Wells Fargo branch has several rather nice-looking male employees and she of course had to turn a well-meaning “Good morning” from one of them into a full-blown conversation while I was filling out my deposit slip.
On our way home, I was feeling a little punchy (you try remarking on the weather 37 times an hour) so I said, “That man at the bank was pretty cute, wasn’t he?”
“Oh yes!” she replied. “And he thought I was cute too. That’s why he said ‘hello’ to me.”
I’m pretty sure it had to do with some corporate policy about greeting customers, especially old ladies, but who am I to burst her bubble?
I wouldn’t be all that concerned except for the fact that my mother set up a Facebook account for my grandmother a few weeks ago.
Seriously: it’s complicated.
For an eighty-something year old woman who’s been married for the past fifty-something years!
I was like, “Mom, you can’t do that. She’s married!” (Sometimes I think I’m the only sane person left in this house.)
Evidently my brother had lodged the same complaint an hour or two earlier but what do we know? She’s still an “It’s complicated” and now she’s flirting with the personal banking folks, the man who sells Avon products at the flea market and even The Wedding Date.
(It’s true. We were discussing his habit of singing in the shower and she told him the next time he takes a shower she’s going to sit right outside the door so she can hear him sing. Um… gross.)
When my mom and I took her to buy groceries the other day, she smiled one of her “I’ve got a secret” smiles at the cashier and whispered, “I’m here without my husband!”
So like I said, we’re going to have a party. I’m going to invite every man I know between the ages of 18-99 and we’re going to drink wine with chopsticks and have ourselves a rollicking good time because tonight, my grandfather arrives. Then little Miss It’s Complicated will have to stop being such a cougar.
- Reasons (Not) to Get Married (fieldworkinstilettos.com)
- Soccer Mom PJs (fieldworkinstilettos.com)
17 Responses to “My Abuela, the Cougar”
I am a little afraid of the day I go around the bend and start embarassingly flirting with every attractive vastly-too-young-for-me man in my vicinity. Of course, it’s already embarrassing when I flirt… and by then I’ll probably be clueless to how awkward and embarassing it is, so I guess it won’t be my problem. 😉
I think you need to move out before she makes a more serious move on your man. Because… whoa. Awkward.
Lol, I know, right?
Loved it!!! Your Grand-Ma is adorable.
That is too funny.
You know, my grams has always been a cougar and I love her for it. One of my favorite pictures from my wedding is one from the reception where she has one arm draped around my husband and another around his cousin (both pretty good looking fellas if I do say so myself — and she does say so — a LOT), and she looks happy as can be. (That could also be because we’d been giving her mimosas prior to the ceremony, but whatever.)
Anyway — your Abuela is in her 80’s. She may be old, and she may have Alzheimer’s, but she’s not dumb. Fifty years or not, I’m sure she knows the true status of her relationship better than anyone. 😉
Very true! Your grams sounds like a hoot!
@Katie, you are so right, she does know the status, and complicated is the most descriptive Facebook will allow us to get, so—however, the other issue is that Abuela does not dress anything like a cougar or anything other than perhaps one step removed from a bag lady…we are working on that one garment at a time…but it is not easy, she is only 120 lbs dripping wet, and maybe 5’2″ and doesn’t like anything “tight”, for which her definition is anything that remotely touches her body. So she wears “large” and “x-large” sweatshirts with iron on decorative logos/designs that have seen better days. I am hemming some new pants for her today, as her old ones are highwaters, since she insists that not only do shoes need to be visible, but also her socks, “peds” (which we don’t wear in the winter, Mom!) and her ankles.
Don’t get me started. I’m planning several “unfortunate accidents” for her purse, the mesh bald eagle baseball cap and that gray fleece “jacket” with the cats or snowflakes or whatever they are…
This is hilarious! Before my great aunt passed, she definitely went a bit cougar. She’d been shy my whole life, but after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she came out of her shell. I remember it was only a couple weeks before she passed, and she was flirting with her hospice care physician. I never thought I’d see her tell a man to his face that he was attractive. It is definitely one of my favorite final moments with her.
Wow! I guess it’s like, “Why the hell not at this point?”
I’m already starting to act a little bit this way and I don’t have Alzheimer’s. I usually blame it on the alcohol. I’ve said this before, but will say it again. I love tu abuela. I say let her do whatever makes her feel spritely as long as she doesn’t get arrested.
Haha, I think that’s a good place to draw the line 🙂
By the way: up until I saw this picture of a cougar leotard (I’m assuming that’s what this is), I never thought a cougar leotard would be so frickin’ hot. It is. Wow.
Well, depending on who is in the leotard… I think it could go downhill real fast!
Don’ let Abuela near the cougar leotard no matter how much she asks for it.
Clearly I’m imagining a very attractive young lady; my imagination is in overdrive (usually).