I can hear grand-ma. She’s taking her morning bath.  

I can hear the water as she splashes herself. Ooooh! Oye! Always ice cold water, every day.

“That’s what keeps me healthy!” she always says.  

I lay in bed a little while longer, waiting for her to get dressed. I know she is putting her corset on, then her stockings.

 Next, she will do her hair. She holds the bobby pins in her mouth as she works her long hair into a bun.

 She is working today, but is expecting visitors this afternoon, so she puts on her “toque” : a pre-braided hairpiece that she tacks on top of the bun. Some face powder, a little rouge, and some bright red lipstick on her thin lips.

She comes back in the bedroom and looks around for something. It’s not on the bookshelf, not on the dresser…

 “Voyons-donc!”

She does the round again. Looking more carefully. 

“Ben Tabarnac! Deyousqu’y est mon dentier”

(Dammit! Where’s my dentures”)

Now she’s pissed. 

“I’ve got work to do and I can’t find my damn teeth!”

She searches around again, gets me up to look with her. In the bathroom, under the bed, in the laundry bin… ?

Nothing.

“Ok. St. Antoine! I’m gonna give you fifty cents if you help me find my teeth!”

 More searching, still nothing.

 In desperation:

“Ok! St. Antoine! Une piastre! Calice” (One buck! Fuck!)

Help me find my god dammed teeth!”

Was it her or me who finally looked behind the bookshelf?

Not sure… and yet, there they are, on the floor, tucked away. I can’t even bring to mind a scenario that would have resulted in those dentures ending up in such an obscure spot.

“About damn time!” she mutters.

I don’t say anything about how sloshed she was when she got back at three o’clock this morning.” I know better.

A quick rinse and she pops those dentures in. Now… she steps in her black skirt, slips on her white smock, then comfortable shoes.

Shoulders back, tits forward. Today is a new day!

I watch her leave. I wonder whose day she’s gonna screw up first.