Out of the Mouths of Geriatrics: Tree Trunks

 This morning, Gal and I were trying to get her up and ready for the day. Today, however, the search engine in her computer was working a little slower than it normally does. Bless her little heart, Gal could NOT remember how to do a certain something that we do every day. So, I encouraged her. I cajoled her. She was not budging. Finally, she said to me, "Look me in the eyes. I love you, Loralee. I do not want to hurt you. Lifting me will hurt you."

Gal said it all so earnestly that I decided to see what I could do to convince her of my astoundingly solid strength. I proceeded post haste to the bathroom, picked up the scale, and carried it back into her bedroom. I placed it as close to her wheelchair as I could get it, so that she could see the numbers from where she sat.

"Lookie there!" I said to her just as earnestly, "I'm super solid. I can handle lifting you, I promise! That scale says 187.2 pounds! (Now don't judge me. I've heard from various sources that weight fluctuates over the course of the day.) She declined my help once again, citing a similar protective reason.

"No!" I said to her quite desperately. "Feel these muscles!" I flexed my biceps in demonstration of my super-hero-like strength. She shook her head, so I decided to pull out the big guns.
"Seriously Gal, I promise we can do this!! Check out my quadriceps! Do ya see how solid they are?" I flexed my right quad, and then pounded it with my closed fist so that she could properly 'check it out.'

It wasn't to be, however. At least not at that moment. Gal was quite determined that we couldn't lift her together. She shook her head vehemently just before replying to me, "Yeah, I know. It sounded like a tree trunk when you hit it!"