The other week at the resthome, the one resident who I joke with about being a lush said something at the dinner table about how I work her about that, though it was more just to mention it and share the jokes with people and have something fun to talk about.
"You better be careful," she was like to me in front of everyone, "If you keep talking about it enough, people are going to start believing you."
"But why would anyone believe that?", the one resthome resident who's a retired music professor chimed in, from his seat at the end of the table. "The bottle of bourbon under your pillow is obviously for medicine."
. . .
(To be honest, there is absolutely no chance of any kind of rumor taking hold, the whole idea of it all is so ridiculous, knowing the resident, and it's a small place where people know each other like that.)
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