Miss Gloria Meets Her Sister for Lunch

Gloria’s Getting Ready for Her Lunch Date

“Gloria, I think you should wear your teal top with your mustard-yellow scarf loosely hanging from your neck.”

“That sounds nice, Debbie… or maybe we can add some pizazz with my coral scarf.”

“Come to think of it, Gloria, that coral would look dazzling with the teal.”

“Yes, the color combination is quite sumptuous.”

“Yes… deliciously sumptuous,” Debbie tittered.

“You make it sound like I’m going to be a menu item.”

“I can see it now—I’ll take an order of the sumptuous Gloria flambé,” Debbie said in a mock English accent.

“Oh sweetie, I don’t think I’d do too well lying in that bed of flames for too long.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen doing dishes while you finish getting ready for your lunch date with your sister.”

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The Uber Driver

Several minutes later, Debbie yelled from the kitchen, “Gloria, your Uber ride is here!”

The driver helped Gloria into the car and packed her wheelchair into the trunk.

“What’s your name?” Gloria asked after he pulled away toward the Salad Bar King.

“My name is Abel.”

“Well let me tell you, Abel… your car smells like someone just took a dump in it. Can you roll down the windows, please?”

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” Abel said as he lowered the windows. “I ate two bean and cheese burritos from the gas station just before I picked you up.”

“Well, whatever they put in those burritos must be toxic… because the fumes you’re letting out reek. Pew—I need a gas mask.”

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The Salad Bar King

Abel helped Gloria out of the car and into her wheelchair. She wheeled herself into the restaurant as he drove off.

“Gloria!” a loud voice called from the other end of the dining room.

Gloria spotted her sister just past the salad bar. “Ah—my Sylvia!” she shouted, quickly wheeling over.

Sylvia gave her a big hug, then they settled at their table.

“I like that copper tint in your hair, Sylvia—it complements your complexion nicely.”

“Well, thank you.”

“I remember back in high school they used to call you dirty blonde.”

Sylvia laughed. “Yes, the boys used to call me that—and they weren’t necessarily talking about my hair.”

They shared a chuckle.

“The boys sure did like you back then… that was 70 years ago.”

Both sisters headed to the salad bar and piled their plates high.

Back at the table, Gloria took over the conversation. “My great-granddaughter was complaining about not finding the right guy, so I told her: Listen, baby—Mr. Right doesn’t always roll in with fireworks and violins… sometimes it’s just, ‘Mmm… he’s cute.’ So—go for the cutie. And don’t you let your girlfriends talk you out of it with that ‘What do you see in him?’ nonsense. Sure, he might be awkward—or even a bit slow—but half the time those guys just need a little nudging to turn them from gutter muck to diamonds. The deep connection and all that other good stuff will come with time… but perfect doesn’t happen unless you plant the seed—and give it room to grow.”

“That’s good advice, Gloria. You always know the right thing to say.”

“Well, get this—the very next day she gets a boyfriend… and they’ve been together now for three months.”

“Well, there you go. Your advice worked. How old is your great-granddaughter?”

“She’s 21. She says her biological clock is a ticking time bomb… I told her that when I was her age my biological clock was an explosion waiting to happen.”

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A Second Trip to the Salad Bar

“I’m ready to go for seconds, Sylvia, but I’m going to need a bit of help. Can you assist me, sister?”

“Certainly, my dearest.”

Sylvia pushed Gloria to the far end of the salad bar where the plates were.

“I won’t be needing one of those,” Gloria said.

Sylvia looked puzzled.

“Push me over there where the potato skins and chicken wings are.”

Gloria opened her purse and pulled out three super-large Ziploc food storage bags.

“What are those, Gloria?”

“Hush, not so loud, Sylvia. I’ve got three bags here—one for fresh fruit, one for salad, and one for hot items like those potato skins.”

“Are you telling me you want me to fill those bags for you?”

“Shhh! Don’t get so huffy. I’ve done this before. The sign says ‘All You Can Eat,’ so I’m getting all I can eat.”

“Okay, you have a point. It does say All You Can Eat.”

Gloria reached into her purse again. “Here, take this thermos and fill it with a mix of clam chowder and chicken noodle soup.”

They went around the salad bar and filled the bags with watermelon, grapes, pineapple, potato skins, more potato skins, fish sticks, and dinner rolls. One bag had a salad big enough for three people, tossed with bleu cheese dressing.

Gloria grinned. “Take me back to the corner over there by the potato skins.”

Once they stopped, she looked at Sylvia. “Okay—there’s a blanket in the pouch on the back of my wheelchair. Grab it and cover my lap. I’ll organize everything underneath so I just look like a pregnant old lady.”

Sylvia couldn’t help but laugh. “Ha! Ha! Pregnant at 93.”

“Now… don’t tell anybody,” Gloria said, lowering her voice like she was about to confess her deepest secret… “But I have… rescued… a little extra food from the salad bar than I should have.”

She leaned closer, her eyes wide with earnestness… “I just couldn’t bear the thought of it ending up in some rancid-smelling dumpster… all alone… and forgotten. Plus, I have an appetite like a piggy.”

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Thank you to Rachel Robbins for bringing the word 'Sumptuous' to my attention in her review of the great film Amadeus.

Love Always, RHC ❤️