Meatball

One of these days we’ll both be fine Photo by Jason Leung on UnsplashMeatball

Phone conversation.

—Hey, Mom, what are doing?

—I’m eating my dinner. Groaning. Ohhhhh, no!

—What?

—A meatball fell on the floor.

—The nurse is coming in ten minutes. She can pick it up.

—I’m going to pick it up.

—I don’t want you bending over. Please.

—Why?

—Because you might fall and hurt yourself. You’ve been falling lately. That’s why you’re in the hospital.

—I’m not going to hurt myself. There’s a meatball on the floor!

—The nurse will pick it up.

—Okay.

—Promise me.

—It’s a big mess.

—Mom, please don’t pick it up.

—Okay.

Grunting. Moving around.

—Mom, what are you doing?

—I’m trying to get this meatball off the floor!

—Mom, if you were a meatball would you like to be left alone or would you like to be picked up?

Indignant.

—I WOULD LIKE TO BE LEFT ALONE IF I WAS A MEATBALL!

—Then let’s leave the meatball. The meatball does not want to be picked up.

Groaning. Bed squeaking. Moving around.

—I just picked it up.

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