“Freshly pollinated, too,” she smirked. “We need to find you a boyfriend.”

“No we don’t. My heart belongs to Mr. Woodson.” I nodded at him, gnarled hands in pockets and leering as usual.

“Well, don’t let him touch anything else.”

We worked side by side handling the usual calls for assistance with everything from bored penises (ignored) to drinks of water. A bit after eight Kait was summoned to help Dr. Aronson.

“This should be good,” she rolled her eyes. “At least I can count on having no appetite for lunch. Or possibly ever again.”

I glanced up from a chart. “Give me a full report free of imagery as soon as you’re done.”

Ten minutes later she rushed up to the station, sparks practically flying from her heels. “You’re not going to believe this,” Kait gushed, “She had a potato in there. She told Dr. Aronson she put it in because it would make her “feel better.” He says she has a prolapsed uterus. She really did have vines!”

I tried valiantly to wrap my head around this information. “Jeez Louise! Where the hell did she get a potato in the first place?”

“From one of the World Travelers.”

That was our term for the assisted living residents in the adjacent wing who boarded a mini-bus each Tuesday morning for their grocery store outing. The bus was white and painted in Fairfield’s Caribbean blues and greens, sporting cheery little heliotrope daisies between each window. The windows were unfortunately positioned, so passing motorists saw a load of drooping shoulders and white hair. Kait said it looked like a hotel shuttle for a wizened wizard convention. Smart shoppers vacated the store when our bus rolled up and began dislodging its passengers. If caught mid-aisle, they hurried to check out before the inevitable coupon files emerged and single-penny-counting payments commenced.

“She had someone buy her a single potato? To treat abdominal pain?”

“Yes,” Kait responded. “She doesn’t remember who or when. She’d forgotten the potato, actually. Dr. Aronson was only slightly more surprised than Mrs. Ledbetter.”

“I take it he’s not encountered tuber therapy before.”

“Nope,” Kait grinned. “God, I love this place.” She began her incident report. “At least we caught it before a blight occurred.”

“That’s nasty.” I laughed, though.

“Nasty? You should have been in the room. I’ve seen things, Ronni. Things no one should see. Or smell. As a matter of fact, I’ve definitely eaten my last french fry, chip or hash brown.”

“How about a loaded baked potato for lunch?” I asked.

“You’re gross.”

“Oh, yeah...I’m gross.”

Kait clutched her stomach and headed to the staff ladies’ room. I decided to avoid the topic until she was less green. There was enough to clean up already.