Bed Bugs

Mary Ann lives across the street.  She’s 83 and on a tight budget, but she managed to get new living room furniture.

She whispers to me on her driveway, “You’ve not been invited in for a while because I was afraid I’d spread bed bugs in the neighborhood.  Don’t tell anyone.”

She’s sure she got them from her grandchildren, who spend the night anywhere and then visit in dirty clothes.

She invites me inside to sit on her new bedbug-free couch. She’s proud of her furniture. We talk about how she found the money to buy it. We talk about the store, the price and the deals. We talk about colors, paint, and decorations. We even talk about the exterminator.

A few days later, she tells me how upset she was when I left.  She was never going to invite me in again.

There was a big wet spot where I’d been sitting. She thought I peed on her couch.

Her mind was racing, “Should I try to soak up the pee?  If I use soap will the material dry stiff?  What if the couch stinks from now on?  What is wrong with Debi?  She must have some serious problems.”

She paces and debates for over an hour.  She touches the spot to see how much I peed.  The spot’s dry.  It only looks wet.  It’s the nap.

“I was so glad you didn’t pee on the couch.  I was never going to have the neighbors in again because it would hurt your feelings if I you weren’t invited, too.”

“Seriously, Maryann, if I was that oblivious to wetting my pants my kids would  have me in a diaper.”

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