A Storm's a Brewin'

Last week, Gladys was sitting in the lobby with Pearl. Gladys was carrying on about how Naomi had stolen her coat. (Refresher: Naomi was Gladys' roommate. She died last winter. Gladys does not remember that Naomi is dead.) Pearl, who is usually in her own little world where people steal all of her stuff, was having an unusually coherent day. "Naomi didn't steal your coat, she's dead!" Pearl exclaimed to Gladys.

"She is not!" Gladys argued. "She was here last night and she took my coat!"

Pearl replied: "She is too dead. You went to her funeral! You saw her laying dead in the casket!"

I'm sitting in my office stricken with indecision: Should I intercede and redirect this conversation that is quickly turning sour....or....(insert evil laugh)should I wait and hear how this all goes down?

As I'm trying to talk myself into the most grown-up choice, I hear Gladys take a deep breath. She lowered her voice so I could barely hear her and says in an over-dramatic stage whisper, "Yeah, well she just wanted everyone to think she was dead. She wasn't really dead."

I get to my office door just in time to see Pearl stand up and grasp the handles of her walker. "I'm not talking to you anymore!" Pearl yelled, as she wheeled her ever-growing purse away. "You're just crazy! Naomi is dead. DEAD I TELL YOU! As in DEAD!"

Fast forward to a few minutes ago: Gladys and Pearl are sitting in the lobby. "Why is your hair black?" Pearl asks. "It isn't black. It's red, " Gladys replies.

"Looks black to me," Pearl retorts in what reminds me of the nanny-nanny-boo-boo lilt. "And I'm sick of you insulting me all the time!" Gladys says evenly as she picks up her 8-pound purse and strolls down the hall.

I've never seen two 90-ish "girls" engage in fisticuffs, nor do I really want to.....but I have to say.... Pearl has one coming.