Wheelchairs
So my mother’s memorial was at the VFW down in our old hometown. It was great seeing everyone. Never before have I been given so many hugs. Seriously, my hugging muscles are sore.
There is a bar in the VFW and that’s where we all ended up, drinking. My mom did not want a funeral, she wanted a going away party. I had fun, though I called it a night around 10:30 pm. I’m old and give out these days. Plus, I had been awake since 3:30 in the morning.
All over the VFW, tucked away in corners, were wheelchairs. Downstairs in the convention room we rented and upstairs in the bar, everywhere. There must’ve been two dozen. I asked someone, going, “Hey, what’s with all these wheelchairs?”
“Oh, they’re collecting them,” the person said.
“Collecting them?”
“Yeah, when people are done with them, they donate them to the VFW for veterans to use, should any need one.”
And I thought, WTF? Shouldn’t we BUY our veterans the best fucking wheelchairs in the universe? Really, they have to roll around on donated ones? They should have awesome wheelchairs, limousines of wheelchairs. Wheelchairs that can perform fellatio and/or cunnilingus and give foot rubs and nipple play and constant butt caresses.
Jeez.
The wheelchairs came in handy, though. At the height of the party, there was not enough places to sit. Even donated wheelchairs are fairly comfortable to drink beer and eat ham salad in, it turns out.
Anyway, I’m glad everything’s over.
