Bill and Gladys

Bill and Gladys could make a fine cartoon strip in my mind. One visit with them provides weeks worth of entertainment. They are a couple in their 80's and have been on Meals on Wheels for as long as anyone can remember. Their home is dark and smells strongly of dust and cigarette smoke. Bill rarely has a shirt on, sports a 2-3 day growth on his face, and is always drinking very thick, black coffee. Gladys generally stays in her chair, shouting her insults at Bill and smoking her never ending chain of cigarettes. On this particular day, we were discussing health problems. Bill reports Gladys has an overactive bladder. Gladys grunts her agreement with the diagnosis and adds that it gives new meaning to an old nick name, "Happy Bottom," then she grins with a michievous smirk waiting for me to get it, and finally supplies the clue, "Glad - Ass." She chortles loudly over this and displays a doll with a personalized bib that reads "Happy Bottom: Gladys." Bill snorts and moves on with his account of his last visit to the doctor. He's not going back for the results of his bone density test because they want to put him in "one of those tubes" to check for cancer. He says he, "ain't got no cancer." He "don't even have a prostate," he bluntly informs me, watching my face carefully for a reaction. "The hell you don't!," Gladys yells, "everybody got a damn prostate." "Nope," continues Bill, "Brodie took it." "What's Brodie gonna do with it? Play?!" Gladys retorts. At this point, I really must stop them. "Who is Brodie?" I ask. Bill winks. "He's my urologist." Evidently, Brodie wanted to do some radiation and Bill told him to just cut it out. At some point in this exchange, I was distracted by some unfolding drama on the TV. "You watch that stuff?" Bill asks in disgust. "No, but I catch bits and pieces in other people's homes," I say. "Oh, well, Happy Bottom over there watches four of 'em every day!" Gladys smiles and says, "Yup," and proceeds to list all of her regular soaps. I tell her I like to read. Gladys says she does, too. In fact, she's got lots of books and will give me one to take. We go into the kitchen, but she's distracted by some pictures. As she flips through them, telling me who each one is, I begin to notice that pictures of her sister, her oldest daughter "the brunette," and her mother are all the same person. We finally move on to her books. She hands me copies of "Prisoner of Passion" and "The Naked Face" -- things I am certain will have me thrown out of seminary if found in my possession. She says, "They all have a little sex in them, but I am old." ?!?!?! We walk back into the den. "You loaded up with some x-rated reading?" Bill asks. "Oh, shut up, Bill. You're too young to read this stuff anyway," Gladys shouts. "Bye, y'all. Have a good day. Stay warm and be nice to each other," I smile as I back out of the front door. When I got home, I wrapped the books in a sack from our local Christian bookstore and put them in the trash. :-\