Granny, My Kiddie Pool and Her Girdle

It wasn't yesterday, but it seems like it. I was only five, but I'll never forget it. Not if I live to be one hundred. Seeing only the good die young, by sharing this I should easily live long past the century mark...

We were getting ready to go to Woolsworth. Yes, I remember those stores. I also remember those tacky double knit pants with the seam thing down the front. My Granny completely backslid and starting wearing them. She had sworn off pants, but those, for some reason, were just to trendy for even her to pass up. Anyway...

Granny took forever to get ready to go anywhere. I suggested she get dressed the night before several times. Despite her strict Pentecostal beliefs, she was quite vain about the way she looked. Every hair had to be in place. (Breathing in all the fumes from the White Rain hairspray had to be what damaged her brain into thinking those pants were a good idea.) Her shirts or skirts had to be perfectly ironed and starched. Oh, now I know why she like those pants. It was a huge production for her to get ready to go.

I can still hear my mom outside the bathroom door, begging her to hurry. Dad gave up and went outside. I watched him roll up the garden hose as he secretly cursed his mother-in-law. My Granddaddy lit a Winston (still a smoker then) and sat down on the couch. I was too excited. After Woolsworth, we would be going to get fireworks for the Fourth of July. I pleaded with Granny to hurry.

Out of the bathroom she came. Her tight granny-permed hair was exactly where it should be. Her shirt was tucked in. Her shoes practically glowed from all the shining. All that was left was to find the perfect head scarf, of course, to protect her hair on the walk from the front door to the car. And, another scarf to cover the cast on her arm. She had taken a tumble a few before and broke her wrist. Finally, she was ready.

Granddaddy opened the front door, walked down the step and to the car. My dad sat on the hood of the car, looking at his watch. Granny stepped outside with my mom right behind her. I was behind my mom.

I wish I had been in front of my mom. She blocked the view. I can't say how Granny managed it since I didn't see it, but she pulled a real doozy. I did hear the splash. Yes. The splash.

Granny fell off the porch and landed in my kiddie pool. By the time my mom got out of my way, Granny was resting her chin on the edge of my Holly Hobby pool. All I saw was her head scarf, bottom and her feet dangling on the opposite side of the plastic pool.

I stood in the doorway and watched as my entire family hustled to get her out of my pool. She wouldn't have gotten so wet (and everyone else as well) if she hadn't resisted the assistance. I moved to the corner of the porch for a better view. I was smart enough not to get involved. When they finally got her out, she was drenched from head to foot. I knew what my dad had done with the hose; he had tossed in the pool because Granny had, somehow, gotten tangled up in it.

Back into the bathroom Granny and my mom went. I stood in the hallway, watching and listening to both the screams from the bathroom and the laughter in the living room. Granddaddy and my dad were having much more fun then the ladies in the bathroom.

Granny was sobbing. My mom was screaming. I stood, mouth gaped open. Granny started screaming. It was horrible. Except to the men in the living room.

"Don't look at my naked," Granny hissed, trying to keep my mom from taking her clothes off of her. "Get out of here!"

My mom stayed. I heard her trying to convince Granny that she might have hurt her wrist. Oh, her broken wrist and the cast. That could be very serious. Yet, there was nothing serious going on in the bathroom.

Imagine double knit stretch pants. Imagine Sheer Energy pantyhose. Imagine nylon granny-panties. Imagine all of those dripping wet on an elderly lady with a cast (AKA now a weapon) who did not want anyone to see "my naked." Oops. I forgot one article of clothing. The girdle. The wet girdle.

Now, imagine trying to take those off that elderly lady that was fighting like a tiger.

I inched my way down the hall to the bathroom door. I saw the whole thing. The double knit pants. The Sheer Energy pantyhose. The granny-panties. The cast. The girdle. The naked. The fight to the death to stay dressed.

If I thought putting on all those dry clothes took a long time, taking them off was an eternity. Chunks of the wet cast fell to the floor. Clothes were peeled off and naked was revealed. Overly sprayed hair was matted to my Granny's scalp, all those curls just stuck together in salt and pepper clumps.

The only part of Granny's body that I didn't see in it's naked glory was the part covered by the cast which did it's best to hide her body. Towels were wrapped around her. The idea of picking out the curls was quickly forgotten, despite Granny's protest, as me and my mom tried to dressed her. Off to the hospital we would go as soon as she was dried and dressed.

My dad tried to carried her to the car once she was dressed. She was still kicking and screaming. "I can't go without my girdle!" She wiggled free of him and back to the house she bolted. She was going to wear her girdle or else. "My hair isn't done!"

"God Almighty," my Granddaddy said, plopping down on the couch and lighting another cigarette.

My dad sat on the hood of the car.

My mom and I were the last line of defense. We were all that stood between Granny and her girdle.

I saw what happened next, but couldn't begin to tell you how it happened. My mom picked Granny up and carried her, over her shoulder, to the car. She plopped her down in the back seat. "You get out of this car and I'll put you back in the pool."

We tried to come up with a believable story when the doctor asked about the strange bruises on Granny's chest and stomach. Yes, doctor, it does look like someone beat her with a hose. The story came out. How he kept a straight face must have been something he learned in learned in medical school. It takes special training not to laugh.

X-rays were taken. The cast was replaced. She was fine. She escaped with only a broken thumb - on the hand of the broken wrist, of course. As for her pride...Well, that was shattered.

On the ride home, Granddaddy whispered to me we'd get fireworks the next day. We had enough fireworks for one evening.