The other week at the resthome, I was assisting the one resthome resident who wants to die, and my thermos fell out of my pocket and landed on the floor with a big metallic CLANG and then rolled off and away under her TV set bureau.
"Ugh," I was like, imitating her, "Look at me, I drop everything."
"Yes," she was like, "But you can pick it up again."
. . .
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