I woke up this morning a little stuffy. Anytime I can’t breathe I think of another piece of Mom’s wisdom. (Clearly, the woman never leaves me.)
Years ago, my friend Rick and I took my parents to a Mexican restaurant near the shore in Santa Monica. The restaurant was at the top of a high rise building which overlooked the ocean and we thought they’d enjoy the view.
We took the elevator to the top and the doors opened to a room packed with people celebrating happy hour and waiting for a table. The four of us pushed our way through and waited near the front door for a while when my mother said to Rick in very dramatic fashion, “Reek, a honey, I gadda get oudda here, I can’d a breede.”
Rick took her to a less crowded area where she inhaled deeply then exhaled and said very seriously, “Oh Reek, datta was a awful, I couldn’d breede (breathe) inna dare and, Hey, eeffa you can’d a breed, you may as wella be dead!”
Excellent point. Guess I’ll make that appointment with the ENT doctor.