Old people are liars. I'm not sure if old age gives them the right to be bendy with the truth or if they are given a slip of paper with the phrase "Well... I just didn't want to worry you..." written on it that is to be used in case of emergency (or to cover up said emergency).
My friend's grandfather went to the hospital because he "felt strange." Her grandmother repeatedly denied that anything was wrong with him and that she could still meet her poor, trusting granddaughter for lunch. My friend then found out that her grandfather was admitted and was (and still is) being submitted to a barrage of testing. AND is being kept for observation!
My grandmother kicked in the door to the bedroom where my sister was sleeping. "Get up!" she yelled and then turned on the light and switched off her fan. Summer got up, got dressed and stumbled down the stairs. Upon retelling the morning's events to Mom and my Aunt, my granny chimed in with "Well, Summer, I did not! I poked my head in and said 'Get up - we're leaving soon' and that was it!" Summer stood there and laughed. There is no arguing with the insane, the young, or the delusionally old.
Finally, I make it to the lovely little lady who lived on my couch when she injured her arm in a freak iron cord incident. Harry and I will arrive at her house and, upon entering the retro setting, with gorgeous flooring and acoustic ceiling and the ever-impressive orange tree - growing in the house - we're met with a SWOOOSH of hot air. Her house is roughly 1,000 degrees - or more.
"MEME!" Harry yells for his tiny five foot-nothing grandmother. She comes pattering out to the front room, sweating and red-faced from the trek. "Do you have your air on?" His eyes are boring into hers - searching for the truth.
She doesn't blink. "Why, Harry, yes! It's on! It's on!"
The heat is making me hallucinate. Oh. Nope - those really are fake black cougars holding up the coffee table. Yeeeech.
"MEME! The air is NOT on! LOOK - I'm SWEATING!"
She rebuts: "I turned it on! Why, Harry - it's on!"
He examines the thermostat.
You can see a thought growing behind his wide, unblinking, blue eyes. "When did you turn it on?"
She wrings her hands.
"Right before you got here," she admits.
Harry, a bit shaken - screams on the inside. I've seen this before when we discuss controversial things like religion or politics or Harry Potter.
He sits down on the couch (or passes out from the heat - I can't really tell).
When he finally speaks - his voice is calm and even. "Do you understand that you have to keep your air conditioning on? Do you understand that it's too hot for you to be in this house in this heat? Keep. Your. Air. On."
She waves a hand. "Yes, yes, yes! I understand, Harry! Yes!" She bounces up and down on her worn gold recliner. "So," she says, leaning back and taking a sip of water, "how're ya?"
Rinse, wash and repeat. This conversation happens - EVERY time we go to her house.
Old people, I guess, are given the right to "improve on the truth." Or ignore it completely. I guess that's what I have to look forward to when I'm old and gray.
That and the Senior's coffee at McDonald's.