This is Evelyn George, sitting in this morning for Mildred Patterson, one of the leaders of the bingo group. Her arthritis is acting up and she is having chest pains after reading something naughty here called, oh, dare I say it? Such language: Wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. My goodness. She was shocked, friends.
Mildred has led a difficult life. She worked in a electrical factory during World War II. Her boss was very tough on her. Some hanky panky might have happened. This explains a lot of her religious fervor, friends. She went to get married to her husband Franklin. They had three children, friends. Two of them fought in Vietnam. One of them became a melon salesman. I think one of her sons died. He had polio. Go easy on Mildred, friends. We in the bingo group do. Like I always tell her, "Your heart can't take all the yelling."
I used to work at Macys, friends. That's right, Macys the department store. I worked in perfume and lingerie. I saw many pretty girls in those departments. Some of them you would have liked to get to know. Some of them not so much. There were some nice pretty girls and there were pretty girls who used rough language. I didn't like the rough language girls very much. I would say, "You are usinng rough language, which I don't like very much." Some of them would stop and apologize. Others would keep using rough language and make fun of me, calling me a tired old banana. Maybe I am a tired old banana. It is rude to call someone a tired old banana.
One of Mildred's grandsons is on the pot. He sometimes comes to the rest home on the pot and you can tell by his bloodshot eyes. This isn't very respectful to Mildred, who did her best to teach him to play Battleship, the game where you try to sink your friend's imaginary plastic battleships by calling out numbers. You need to play it. It is a lot like Bingo. Except in Bingo you don't sink anything. Except maybe your spirits sink a little when you don't win. I don't like it when my spirits sink, friends. Do your spirits ever sink? When mine sink I like to sing this little song. It goes something like this:
Sometimes when it is rainy
I walk between the raindrops
I walk between the sorrow
I walk between the rainclouds
I know it is a short walk
From the Packard to the front porch
Oh, please mister raindrop
Let me get there safely
And maybe when the rain stops
I'll see my true love again
This is a nice song. If you ever feel sad you can sing it to. You just kind of sing it any way you like. I never put it to music. My dead husband was a music man. He never took me seriously. He liked to keep me around the house. He liked when I made him breakfast and dinner and did things for him in the bedroom you'll learn about when you are older. They are not for talking about, friends.
I would like to make you some of my famous fudge cookies and a tall glass of lemonade. It is a hot summer. Fudge cookies and lemonade are nice in the summer. Not the pot. Don't get on the pot. It makes you lose your mind. A mind is a terrible thing to let go to waste. Maybe you will be the person who finds a cure for cancer? You won't if you get on the pot.
Okay, bye bye. The nurse is here with my meds. Remember, I believe in you, friends. You can do anything with your life. Just stay off the pot please.