The Goldfish is losing the social veneer which prevents us from making rude remarks to and/or about other people. He passes remarks – rather loudly – in public places.
In the supermarket he suddenly said in carrying tones: “Goodness, she’s a big woman.” In case I, or any of the dozen shoppers round about us, were in any doubt as to which big woman he was referring, he helpfully pointed to her. I – and she, thank goodness – pretended not to notice.
Every time he sees Wee-sis he comments on how much weight she is putting on. He accompanies his comments about her getting fat with a few friendly prods in her stomach. Finally, she said: “Yes, I know I’m putting on weight. You tell me every time you see me.”
The Goldfish was very contrite, said he hadn’t realised he commented on her weight so often. Five minutes later, a prod on her tummy and: “You’re putting it on a bit.”
I wish the same could be said for him but the weight loss is continuing at an alarming rate. The step-monster admitted she had to make new holes in his belt to tighten it. But she still maintains he is eating well. I know he eats very well when I take him out. Last time he had cheese and ham toasties, ginger beer, a huge slice of carrot cake and coffee – with an ice cream before we went home. I do wonder what she is giving him to eat at home. She’s always on about how older people don’t need so much to eat and whenever she is eating out with us she makes a big thing of having only a starter because it will be enough, or she has a main course and puts half of it in her napkin to take home. I suspect she has put the Goldfish on short rations.
I remember that occasion particularly well because I took the Goldfish home earlier than normal and the step-monster was there. Usually, she makes a point of going out before I bring the Goldfish home, so she can avoid him for a bit longer. It always puts me in a quandary because I hate to leave him on his own as I worry he might fall, especially when his arthritic hip is sore.
She wasn’t pleased to see us. “Oh, you’re back. Do you have to go somewhere? she asked. I pointed out I do have to work and this week have had three days interrupted with social services, medical appointments, and various other things to do on behalf of the Goldfish and was now running late to write articles whose deadlines were looming.
“Oh,” she said, with a little shrug. “’You’ll soon catch up.” Yeah, of course, I will – if I work to midnight every night.
One of those appointments was with the doctor about the Goldfish’s dramatic weight loss. He asked about other symptoms and said it is either a sign of the Goldfish having a tumour or it’s a nutritional problem. As there are no other indications of it being a tumour, he will make an appointment with the dietician. I laughed, pointing out how long the waiting list is. I’ve known people wait for two years to see the dietician. The Goldfish might not last that long.
When we came back step-monster asks if ‘doctor was pleased.’ I say no, he wasn’t pleased and try to explain the situation to her. She tells me, yet again he eats ‘very well’ and I tell her in that case it is likely to be a cancerous tumour. “Oh, well,” she says, “I’m sure it will all work out fine.”
What sodding planet does that woman live on?