#peace and love in the geriatric aisle

[jorrated]

they should do a sonic ship tournament but ONLY with old people

[anthonybialy]

Cleanup in Every Aisle

Mopping up Joe Biden’s mess will be a professional job.  The janitorial industry is just one one more that is suddenly going to thrive.  A giant elderly toddler isn’t about to be taught manners or what causes money to be worthless.  The president flaunts the temperament of a whippersnapper who isn’t having fun while Mom shops for his food.  The difference is a two-year-old flailing in the supermarket gets a little latitude.

We’re all rich as long as nobody tries to buy anything.  Inflation is a cruel trick that makes unlimited free cash a bit less fun to possess.  The most wise and decent people who somehow never comprehend that taxing success leads to less of it are baffled how to get wealthy.  Tearing down those who have found a way to earn more reflects a purity of jealousy that typifies liberals who describe themselves as selfless.  If they’re concerned with what happens next, they have the worst way of showing it.

It’s impossible to speak slow enough to Biden.  He has too much trouble understanding individual words to focus on several of them in a row.  Numerous decades haven’t provided him enough chances to grasp the simplest notions.  A kindergartener might think it’s possible to make everyone rich by printing more money.  That’s until parent or teacher explains why it wouldn’t work, and the youth enters first grade enlightened.  The six-year-old knows more about the world than the president in his ninth decade.

An adult will vacuum and disinfect after teens trashed the White House.  The grownup who notes Zima doesn’t belong in ice cube trays will be treated like the villain instead of the brat who violated trust.  The next good president will compensate for the hoary toddler.

Facing financial reckoning will not be the first time someone responsible pays after the Democrat dines and dashes.  Hoping a beloved homebuilder is comfortable with loved ones while receiving care doesn’t change how many sighs his most prominent job spurred.  Jimmy Carter’s childish infiltrations left Americans as sad as they were broke.  Ronald Reagan was forced into maturity.

The inevitable cure of raising interest rates will cause additional pain.  Blaming a Republican for a recession spurred by coping with damage inflicted by a childish Democrat isn’t different from claiming corporate greed came to mind amongst greedy executives right after Biden’s inauguration.

The rest of the world presently seems downright frightening, which makes getting robbed of the few possessions one has left not seem so ghastly.  You should appreciate the perspective created by international chaos.  Marvel supervillains couldn’t have caused as much.  Biden is incapable of such plotting, so we know he’s not at comic book level.

The perpetually needy are convinced peace will be at hand once America is liked.  They should be focused on making us respected.  We’re presently neither, which creates insecurity in multiple senses.  Make our country as lame and mediocre as the rest of this stupid planet in order to reduce jealousy.

Liberals still can’t answer why they stay in the one place that allows people to own guns.  Similarly, this cruel right-wing enclave doesn’t pretend they can guarantee Barack Obama will work through his retirement curing your ills.  The best way to lower prices while maintaining quality is to make doctors compete for your business just like criminals are scared off by potentially armed potential victims.  

Giant government got the spokesperson it deserves.  The geriatric failure of a toddler isn’t the inspirationally charismatic guide that the ideologically delusional thought they’d get.  Liberalism needs a cult leader to get anyone to comply, which should be a red flag large enough to block the Sun.  Biden’s inadvertent contribution consists of serving as the nasty putz who is his beliefs in human form.

You may think he’s never paying attention at work.  But Biden learned from his last manager.  It’s not someone in an industry that actually created products people want or anything.  The aforementioned Obama embodies bossiness without being a boss.  The ultimate phony spent two terms whining about what he inherited while casually strolling from the toxic waste dump he left.  Biden was the underling with way more experience.  Unfortunately for us, it was as a Democratic politician.

Leading us into an enlightened future sure features lots of poverty.  Crime is skyrocketing just when you thought there’d be nothing to steal.  A globe enduring predictably unpredictable crises sadly doesn’t distract much from dwindling finances.

Biden represents his cause.  He’s not being complimented.  An angrily inarticulate oaf has the leadership skills to match.  Curmudgeonly geezers should at least be charming about incessant griping, but this rather prominent example has shown himself to be incapable of self-reflection on top of any other pleasant qualities.

If Biden is cranky, he should imagine those suffering from his goofy notions put into action.  The person tasked with repairing what the idling twit who previously held the job broke knows the seemingly insurmountable challenges.  The sole upside to widespread devastation is that an applicant has the chance to prove extreme competency.  The incumbent knew there was a nice thing about what we’re enduring.  The meanest grandpa is too busy inadvertently summing himself up perfectly to finally experience empathy.

[mldrgrl]

Not Again: Part 2

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG13 Summary: See Part 1

Part 2: Returned Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7, Day 10:

She can finally go home.  Finally.  She’s getting pretty tired of all the relaxing she’s had to do, but her doctor has given her the all clear to resume her life with the caveat that she take it easy for the next few weeks.

Mulder had been at the hospital every day, taking her orders on what she’d like done to her spare room to get it prepared.  The most he’s done, as far as she knows, is clear it out and get it painted.  She spent over two hours looking at paint samples he brought her and finally decided on a very pale shade of mint green, until she looked at the wallpaper and border samples and changed her mind entirely.  Mulder finally took both books from her and said he’d handle things.

She’s anxious to see the room, but she’s sick of being cooped up inside and in bed.  She wants to be out in the world.  When Mulder picks her up, she demands he take her shopping.  There’s a Pottery Barn Kids exactly eight blocks away from the hospital.  She knows because she scoured the Yellow Pages in her room, looking for the nearest baby store.

“There’s a whole Pottery Barn for kids?” Mulder asks, incredulously.  “Exclusively for kids.  Like, adult Pottery Barn on one side of the street, and baby Pottery Barn on the other?  They can’t just have one integrated Pottery Barn?”

As he wheels her out the door and walks with her to the car, drives to the store and parks outside, he comes up with a whole variety of Pottery Barn exclusives that has her rolling her eyes, but laughing.

“Pottery Barn Geriatrics,” he says.  “Pottery Barn Pets.  Pottery Barn Yuppies.  Pottery Barn Sailors.  Pottery Barnyard Animals.”

“We’re in public,” she tells him outside the store.  “Try and behave.”

“Do they have a Pottery Barn jail too?” he whispers in her ear as he holds the door open for her.  “Or, Pottery Barn Juvenile Delinquent Detention Center, I should say?”

There’s an overwhelming amount of furniture on display in the store.  Every few feet the model of a nursery is set up with completely different styles of decor and bedroom sets.  Mulder follows her through the maze of nurseries, thumping mattresses and yanking on the bars of cribs like he’s kicking the tires on a new car.

“Behave,” Scully whispers to him.

“We need to get one of the ones with the round edges.  Look at this corner, it’ll put someone’s eye out.”

“I’ll look the cribs, you go look at the sheets.”

Mulder separates from her and she continues her wandering, sliding her hands over bedrails to feel the wood and leaning over to check the depth inside.  The price tag on the first couple she’s interested in make her shy away, but she finds one she likes that seems reasonable.  It’s natural oak, rounded edges so Mulder shouldn’t object, and it converts to a toddler bed.  The matching changing table doubles as a dresser.  The tag says assembly is quick and easy and it has a ten year warranty.  She’s sold.

Her back has started to ache a little, so she sits down in a nearby chair.  Not only is it the most comfortable chair she’s ever sat in, the way it moves is a lot smoother than a rocker.  She looks at the tag.  It’s called a glider, and it’s expensive.  Too expensive to give it another thought, but she closes her eyes to enjoy it anyway.

“Don’t you look cozy,” Mulder says, bringing her back from the light doze she was starting to drift into.  He’s got a shopping cart with him full of God only knows what.

“I am quite comfortable, yes.  What is all of that?”

“Check it out.”  He pulls out a set of crib sheets and holds it out to her.  She gives a small huff of amusement.  The print is cartoon baby monkeys piloting a variety of rocket ships and spacecrafts.

Mulder has an expectant look on his face like he’s waiting for her approval and permission.  They’re only sheets and they are cute.  She shrugs to give him her nonchalant agreement and he grins.

“What else is in there?” she asks.

“Stuff.  Did you find a crib?”

“That one.”  She points to the set in the faux nursery across the aisle and Mulder leaves the cart to inspect it.

“Looks good,” he says when he comes back.

“There’s a matching changing station.”

“That’s the one you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go get it.  You stay here and keep enjoying your chair.”

“Mulder, no.”  She slides forward to push herself out of the chair, but Mulder leans down and holds the arms of the chair, blocking her from getting up.  The chair glides back and she leans with it, rolling back a little.

“It’s...he’s mine too, isn’t he?” he asks.

“What do you mean?  Of course he’s…”

“The responsibility.”  He ducks his head suddenly like he’s embarrassed and she puts her hand over his arm and holds his elbow.  “We never talked about it.”

“I know.”

“Even when we were trying to do this, we never talked about it.  I wanted to ask what kind of role you wanted me to play, but this is different, Scully.  Science didn’t make this baby.  We did.”

“I hope our child has the strength of your beliefs,” she whispers to him and he leans even closer to rest his forehead against hers.  “You’re the one that told me not to give up on a miracle.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments and then Mulder pulls back.  “I’m gonna go get that crib,” he says.

Scully sits back and watches him push his cart to the registers.  He consults with a saleswoman, pointing out the items to her and then they walk over and she inspects the tags.  He looks over to make sure he’s got it right and she nods at him.  It takes a little time to make the order and she rocks in the chair, watching him take care of things.

“We’re all set,” he says, coming back to her with a load of shopping bags.  “It’s going to be delivered today between four and seven.”

“That soon?”

“We’re lucky they had it in stock.  Let’s get you home.”

*****

They stop for lunch on the way home and as Scully devours most the footlong meatball sub they were meant to share, she suddenly finds herself on the verge of sleep.  Another side effect of the pregnancy, she thinks.  Either that or she’s returned a narcoleptic.  One minute she’s licking tomato sauce off her fingers and the next she feels as though she can’t keep her eyes open.

She manages to stay awake in the car, but yawns compulsively.  The thought of inspecting what Mulder has done to her spare room keeps her from falling asleep.  Part of her feels badly about not offering to help him carry some of the shopping bags up to apartment, but she she’s so tired.  Minutes later, she’ll blame her tears on the fatigue and the hormones when she finally sees the room.

“Mulder,” she murmurs, her eyes instantly spilling over with fat tears that roll down her cheeks.

“That bad?”

She shakes her head and passes her hand over the empty wall across from the door.  The room has been painted in a delicate, very light shade of blue, but that single wall has been stenciled with puffy clouds.

“You did this yourself?” she asks.

“I called the guy that came and painted all by myself.  The gunmen helped me move everything out.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Now you’ve seen it, why don’t you go take a nap and I’ll wait for the delivery guys.”

Scully wipes her cheeks and nods.  He’s done so much for her in the past few days and before she knew about their situation, she might have been inclined to say it was out of guilt, but the joy he seems to be taking in being involved in the preparation for the baby tells her otherwise.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to ask of you,” she says, tracing the shape of one of the clouds on the wall with the tip of her finger so she doesn’t have to look at him.  “Before I was released today, my doctor suggested I attend a birthing class this weekend.  I need a partner.”

“Is it one of those Lamaze things?  Breathe in, breathe out, relax the back, heeheehoooooo, heeheehoooo…”

“What do you know about Lamaze, Mulder?”

“Only what I’ve seen on Oprah.”

She smiles a little and turns to glance up at him.

“For the record, I’m always your partner,” he says.

“I know.”

He brushes his hand down the back of her head as she passes him by on the way to her room and she pauses for a moment to lean into it.

*****

Scully wakes to the sound of voices.  She can hear Mulder speaking with someone outside her door, but the conversation is low and it just sounds like a murmur.  Assuming it’s the delivery, she stretches languidly and takes her time getting up, trusting that Mulder can handle it.

She opens the door to her room just as two men are walking out of the spare room with bundles of plastic wrapping.  One of them nods to her as they pass by.  Mulder follows just a second later and smiles at her.  As he walks them out, she stretches the muscles out in her back and shuffles into the spare room.

There’s a large box containing the crib propped up against the wall of clouds.  Against the left wall is the changing table, already assembled, fortunately.  And then, in front of the closet, is the glider chair she’d spent her time relaxing in at the store.  The only difference between the chair currently in her spare room and the one at the store was the padding on this one was blue and not white.  There’s also a nicely wrapped box placed on the seat.

“You got me the chair,” she says when he returns to lean against the door jamb.

“You looked so peaceful in it, I had to,” he answers.

“You really don’t...you really…”

“Don’t worry about it, Scully.  Sit down.”

“I can’t, there’s a very intriguing box in the way.”

Mulder smiles and comes over to scoop up the box, placing it in her lap when she sits down.  He sits on the floor next to her and she unties the white ribbon around the present and then scratches at the wrapping paper.  She shakes off the top of the box and parts the tissue paper inside to reveal an old, well-loved cloth doll.

“Oh,” she says, lifting the doll from the box.  “Mulder…”

“Back when we first tried...well, I had high hopes.  I wrapped her up after the implantation and she’s been in my closet waiting.”

Scully smoothes her hand down the braids of yarn for the doll’s hair.  “Was she your sister’s?”

“No, she was mine.”

With a chuckle, Scully bops Mulder on the nose with the doll and he scrunches his face at her and smiles, but his eyes are serious.  Her chuckles taper off and she looks from Mulder to the doll.

“Really?” she says.

“Yeah, really.”

“What’s her name?”

This time Mulder does chuckle.  “Dolly,” he answers with a shrug.  “In my defense, I named her when I was two.”

Scully smiles.

“The story is though,” Mulder says.  “My grandmother always ordered Christmas presents to be sent out from a department store.  I got Dolly the same year my cousin Amy received a toy fire truck.  By the time they figured out it was a mix-up in the delivery, I was deeply attached to Dolly and wouldn’t give her up.”

The story doesn’t surprise Scully at all.  What little insight she’s had into Mulder’s childhood, it’s mostly been painful.  This story though, is sweet and so like Mulder.  She immediately cherishes it and craves more of it.  She won’t pry though.

“I love it,” she says.

“Should I get started on the crib?”

“You think you’re up to the task?”

“How hard can it be?”

*****

Easy assembly isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Three hours and a few bandages later, the crib is in place and ready to test the weight of the mattress.  Scully had washed the sheets while Mulder muttered obscenities under his breath about the quality of instructions in the box.  Even she would admit that the diagrams were somewhat useless and not exactly helpful.

The important thing is, the crib is assembled and ready to go.

“Moment of truth,” Mulder says, lowering the mattress down to rest on the supports hooked on the four sides.  He presses a little metal bar below the rails with his foot and miraculously, it lowers easily and locks again when he raises it.  He looks more relieved than proud.

“Nice job, Bob Vila,” she says, and waits for the retort from him about his virility and her appreciation of it, but it doesn’t come.

She’s been slowly coming to the realization that the Mulder she has now is different from the one she’s accustomed to.  It’s small things, like the decrease in sarcasm, that take her by surprise.  He’s somehow softer and a little calmer.  Not even once has he brought up work to her without her asking.  Work used to occupy all of his time, now it seems like he’d rather be anywhere else.  Actually, it seems like he’d just rather be with her.  The truth is, the feeling is mutual.

“So, any more heavy lifting need to be done?” Mulder asks.  He flexes one arm for her and squeezes his own bicep.  “Be honest, Scully, exactly how impressed with me are you right now?”

There he is.  The Mulder that flirts with her relentlessly and playfully, the one that tries to draw her out to play with him.  The one that tries to make her smile.  This is how she likes him the most.  This is how...she loves him.

“I’m unable to put into words how impressed I am,” she tells him.

He chuckles lightly and bumps his arm into hers as they stand in front of the crib.

“You can help me with the sheets,” she says.

Mulder does the tugging and fitting of the sheets into place.  Her belly gets in the way and makes it difficult.  The little space monkeys go perfectly with the wall of clouds.  Unbeknownst to Scully, there is also a little pillow in the shape of a crescent moon in the bag of purchases and he sets that in the corner of the crib with a smile.

Scully puts Dolly in the crib, leaning against the moon.  They both stand and stare into the little bed for a few moments.

“Well,” Mulder says.  “I guess it’s getting late.”

It’s actually not that late.  It’s not even nine.  She wants to ask him to stay, but she’s not sure for what.  There’s nothing to do but relax.  No work to discuss.  No reason to keep him with her, save for the fact she would just like to be with him.

“I guess,” she says, disappointed with her cowardice.  

“I’ll see you Saturday then, unless...you can call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

He leans down to kiss her good night and touches his lips to the corner of her mouth, much like he had when he left her in the hospital.  He lingers there, as though waiting for her to turn her head, to kiss him back, maybe, but she’s rooted to her spot and unable to move.  Her lips twitch and her mouth parts by a millimeter or two, but by then it’s too late and he’s pulled away.

“Night, Scully.”

“Good night.”

*****