Okay, I’ll admit it, I lost my cool with a new CNA. I may as well tell you because I know she will rat me out as soon as she can. Did you hear what I said? “Rat me out,” is not an expression someone would use if they had been hiding in a cave for the last forty years. I try to keep up.

Which leads right in to what I am going to confess. This: When I lost my cool, I talked really ugly to her. I said, almost screaming I was when I said, “For Pete’s sake, quit talking baby-talk around me! If you haven’t noticed, I no longer am wearing the chubby cheeks of a newborn! You may think it’s cute or necessary but it isn’t! Neither of those,” I said, but I felt wretched as I said it. It was true, but snarling sarcasm is not my style.

Like a whole bucket of dirty scrub water it flew out of me in one big splash. She mumbled something that I think was not very nice and flew out of the room like her hair was on fire, which at the moment I would have enjoyed seeing. Shame on me.

In my defense, here is the context. The morning had been boring. Deadly boring. The clay modeling class, which I enjoy, was canceled. That put me in a foul mood so instead of going to chair aerobics class I stayed in my room and exercised alone. The CNA (that one) had come in and tried to take me to class. I told her to buzz off. My bad. Like I was going to let her take my hand and lead me there like a toddler.

See, when people get in that awful baby-talk mode, it’s like “Coo, coo, what a little darling you are, yes you are you cutie, you! Does baby want her binky?” I could just barf, excuse me, but that is not respect and I won’t put up with it. No way! I left babyhood a long time ago.

At lunch I saw that dessert was vanilla tapioca, which I really like, so I ate all the other things slowly so I could look forward longer to the treat at the end. This may give you a clue about how starved for excitement it is for me around here. When finally the time came to tap the tapioca, it turned out to be pineapple. Arrrgh!

Who ever heard of such a thing! So I slumped back to my room and it was hotter than you know where so I sat sweating in my plastic covered chair and tried to read. When the CNA came in to tell me the a/c was broken, I unglued myself from the vinyl and went unglued in her direction. I was wrong, but why oh why do people treat us like babies? I’m am quite sure I am not a baby, thank you very much. Can’t you see that?

It was explained to me that the baby-talk thing arises as an expression of nurturing, which is a good instinct built into the female brain and that we more mature folks should accept it because of its benevolent roots and intention.

Poppycock propaganda, I sez.

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