Trying to get The Curmudgeon out the door and into the car is like herding cats or several hundred three-year-olds.

It never used to be like this.

“Did you put your med list in your walker?”

“No.”

“Well why not? You need it every time with every doctor or therapist we go to even though they have received fifty gazillion of them by now.”

Low mumbling heard.

“Now? You have to go to the bathroom now? Why didn’t you think of that before we had to leave?”

More mumbling as he reappears.

“Where’s your cane? Do you have your wallet? Zip your pants up no one wants to see that.”

It takes five minutes to get from the front door to the van, that is in the driveway right beside the porch, and five more minutes to get him and the rollator loaded.

Off to the first appointment on the south side of town and then to his second appointment on the north side.

While driving to the second appointment I watch my gas gauge drop some more.

At least I managed to get in some reading while waiting for him at both places.

You all have a good one!