|Bubba and G - Pre Party. Bubba said: |
"I'm 90, who in the world would show up?"
It's official. Bubba is 90 and she is as fiesty and sharp tongued as ever. No one is safe.
SpecialK, Alethea, G and I flew down to Tejas to surprise her for her 90th freaking birthday and when we walked into her living room she simply said: Well, hello. How. are. you? That was it. I don't know what we were expecting, some hand to the heart southern genteel feigned surprise? Raised brows with jaw slightly agape mayhaps? G (bless her) actually feared that Bubba might have a heart attack.But we got none of that and instead, she greeted us as if we were right. on. time.
|Bubba & her Texas Tennis Ladies! |
They are as fun and dangerous
as they look.
She's 90 and might weigh 90 lbs. soaking wet. She lives by herself, nibbles on her daily Meals on Wheels (bless them) and let's face it, she gets the majority of her daily caloric intake from the King of Beers: Budweiser. She scuttles around with her walker and isn't always steady, but she seems to make it around just enough to keep her precious Mr. Bo Jangles well-fed and her fridge stocked full of Bud. I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Bo Jangles was something of a Meals on Wheels connoisseur as well. Inneresting.
|Bubba at 2 a.m.: |
"I was a clown once, dammit!"
On the night of her party, Bubba flat out refused to go to bed. I found myself basically arguing with my 90-year-old-intoxicated-but-not-drunk-grandma, trying to coerce her into putting down her beer and going to bed, you know, because it was 2 a.m. But then she came back at me with:
I was a clown once dammit and I will never clown again. And I'm not going to bed either. Why don't you go to bed if you're so tired!
|Bubba & BFF Jacki. Bubba said: "Take|
it already, we're not getting any younger!"
And then I was like Who said anything about clowns and who the hell am I to argue with my 90-year-old-intoxicated-but-not-drunk-former-clown-grandma at 2 o'clock in the freaking morning? So I dropped it. And she went to bed at 3 a.m., after she finished her beer.
Bubba looked good while we were there. She got her hair done, she even managed a shower-bath-thing that one does when they're 90. It was just enough to make us feel OK to leave her. Almost. But that night of her party, when she removed her sombrero, took out her teeth and ditched her walker to hobble, hunched over and feet shuffling to her bed, I saw her. The 90 year old woman that needed to be helped with her pyjamas and then be pushed towards the middle of her bed so she wouldn't roll out. Her concave sunken cheeks that can only be seen once the dentures are out. She finally looked 90, and she acted 90. And then her little bony hand reached out for mine and squeezed it gently. And then... in an instant, she was snoring louder than any lumber jack ever could. How that tiny little flesh and bones lady could make those sounds is beyond me but really, it made me feel better because suddenly I was a kid again, listening to the lumber jack snores of my Bubba. She was resting - loudly - and she was unconscious.