Tiffy Saves Sharon from Nurse "Vagina"
Yeah, I’m finally crying now…what a day…what goddam day. Where to begin…
So, I headed over to Sharon’s condo so we can go for our daily walk. And this morning, my stomach was already in knots. I had finally decided to go to Dandy’s to see if he was the one that left the cupcake and the rose on my doorstep a few days ago. The cupcake was definitely from Dandy’s, but maybe somebody bought it from the shop to fool me. No, it had to be Dandy’s who sent it. And I put the rose in a little vase that I made in vacation bible school when I was a kid. Yeah, I did go to church when I was younger, and, no, I don’t feel like chatting about that..
So, I go over to Sharon’s, and Nurse Regina aka Nurse “Vagina” answers the door, and says that Sharon can’t go for a walk, that she’s not feeling well. And, oh shit! Please, don’t let her have COVID. I mean she’s pretty old. And before I can say anything, I hear Sharon screaming from her bedroom…and I barrel past Regina, but she grabs me and says that I’m not allowed to see her. Meanwhile, I hear Sharon screaming, and suddenly calling to me in a cracked voice, “Friend! Friend! So, I wrench my arm away from that hateful registered nurse fuckface, and push her away from me. She knocks over and breaks Sharon’s favorite poodle lamp. She collects poodles, ya know. And I race to Sharon’s bedroom, with Regina racing and screaming at me. And my heart is pounding in my chest. And I’m thinking that I’m in some horror movie. So, I’m racing down the hall and Regina grabs me by the hair, and yanks. Fortunately, I was wearing my extensions, and they came off in her hand. It’s still hurt like a motherfucker though….and, damn those extensions costs a pretty penny! Anyway, Regina loses her balance and falls right on her big fat ass.
I finally get to the bedroom door and fling it open…and Sweet Jesus, there’s Sharon tied to the bed! Well, not tied to the bed, more like she had on these leather bands….shackles, that’s what they call them. And Sharon is crying awful bad….I can see the tears on her face…and she’s whimpering “friend” over and over. And I fling myself on her and give her a big hug…and just as I’m going that, Regina starts yelling at me “She’s sick! She’s sick…” And Sharon, is whispering in my ear “cornhole…cornh…cornhe…cornhelp….help….help!” And Regina starts screaming, “Get out of here, you old trollop Or I’ll call the police!” Now, I don’t know what a trollop is, but based upon the way she said it, I think it must be pretty nasty. So I says to her, “Call the police then! Call ‘em. Let’s see what they have to say about you tying up some poor old lady! YOU HATEFUL SOW! WHAT KINDA SICKO ARE YOU DO THIS TO HER, YOU SADISTIC BITCH!?
And Sharon is crying “help, help, cornhelp, help!’ and Regina’s screaming at me, and…oh, gawd, it was a madhouse. And I thought this isn’t happening. How can anything like this happen to somebody as sweet as Sharon? And I don’t know what to do…I don’t want any trouble from the cops. Ok, confession time…I have a couple of priors for solicitation. Not ashamed of my past, but not especially proud of it either. And who will the cops believe, a registered nurse or an-over-the-hill hooker? So I don’t know what to do, and then I see it on the nightstand, and grab and push.
And Regina’s eyes go wide, when she sees the Sharon’s LifeAlert in my hand, and I scream out, “THEY’RE SENDING AN AMBULANCE RIGHT NOW, AND THEN WE’LL FIND OUT JUST HOW SICK SHARON IS! GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT YOU FUCKING BITCH! OR THEY’LL BE TAKING YOUR SORRY ASS TO THE HOSPITAL IN THAT AMBULANCE!”
Well, Regina raced down the hall and slammed the front door behind here. I stayed with Sharon. I unbuckled her from the bed….and just cradled her in my arms, talking to her and rocking her just like she was a baby. And she’s crying, and I wanna cry too. But I force myself to stay calm. Sharon needs me, and I hear the ambulance in the distance, and there’s going to be a lot of questions. And I don’t know if they will believe my answers. All I know is I saved my friend, my Sharon.
