Another Story I Couldn't Tell ...

One day while visiting an elderly woman who lived alone in an apartment complex, it got to be lunch time.  She was very concerned that I might be hungry.  As I worked my way through my questions for her, I assured her I would eat when I left her, but she didn't seem convinced.  Finally, she asked if I'd like a can of Sprite.  Thinking a canned soda had to be pretty safe, I agreed. She shuffled her way into the kitchen, oxygen tank in tow.  When she got there, she decided to pour the Sprite over ice.

At this point, I began to get a little nervous.  Old people can't see well and have low energy, so their kitchens are not generally the cleanest.  Then, she asked if I'd like a straw.  A safe, sanitary method for drinking a soda?  Why, sure!  I'd love a straw!

As she shuffles back over to me with the glass, I'm going on and on about how much I prefer drinking from a straw.  Just about the time she hands me the glass, she says, "Oh, I love straws, too.  I save them and wash them and reuse them!"  I look down at the glass in my hand and notice a strange discoloration around the rim of the straw sticking up at me.  Yikes!

I held the glass politely as we continued to talk.  When she mentioned a photograph of her granddaughter that she kept in the next room, I asked to see it.  While she shuffled to find it, I quickly fed a thirsty looking plant a very refreshing soda!