The Bombshell Visitor

She had hoped the beachside drive along the coastal highway from home to the facility would help to calm her down some.  She loved the feel of the Gulf breezes whipping through her long blonde tresses, the warmth of the sun as it tanned her barren arms.  She would sometimes hike her peasant style skirt almost up to her waist in hopes of acquiring a little leg tan while skirting about town.  She giggled to think what a thrill truck drivers enjoyed as they passed her in the white LeBaron convertible.

She fancied herself to be a woman with some flare.  Her wardrobe had evolved into only peasant skirts and tank tops.  She had an extensive supply of scarves she would sometimes wrap around her waist, her neck and often use to tie up those gorgeous blonde locks of hers. Men eyed her up and down and she knew women wanted to be her, if for just one joyous ride in that convertible.

She hadn’t been to visit him in over 3 weeks.  She didn’t feel guilty.  He was 86 years old and truly loved it at the facility.  It was not  a difficult decision to make in placing him  there.  He could no longer care for himself.  Just last winter he fell and it was 2 days before someone was able to get to him.   Not only was he almost frozen, but starving also.  She definitely made the right decision in moving him to the nursing facility but now she realizes she must get him out of there, TODAY.

She had read and reread the stinging line of the registered letter.  “As your visits upset not only him, but also other guests and staff, your access to this facility is hereby revoked indefinitely.”  She knew he was upset when she left, who wouldn’t be.  So what if the staff had to do their job and calm him down after her departure.  He got over it and returned to his jovial self in no time.

She parked the aged Chrysler Le Baron convertible smack dab in the middle of the “no parking” zone. No need to put up the top or worry about being towed she decided.  She would not be in the nursing home facility very long, nor would he.

As she entered the double doors of the facility it seemed the entire staff swooped down ushering her into the nearest empty room. 

“Did you not receive the registered letter?” quizzed the director.

“That’s why I am here!” she adamantly exclaimed. “what is the deal?”

“Mrs. Boday, “ the director began in disgusted tones. “We tried to comprehend the 10 scarves you used to restrain your husband to his bed.  It took us over an hour to untie all the knots.  We looked the other way when you performed your pseudo “pole dance” for him.  However, we cannot allow any woman, much less one 70 years of age, to visit the facility in see through clothing without underwear.”