Knuckle Update, or Why 700 Years of Irish Resistance Training Can't Be All Bad
Less than a month after spending two days on the floor of her bedroom, the Knuckle is now fully hydrated, eating better than ever, doing her therapy like a good girl, bitching about her hilariously foul-mouthed roommate who bogarts the air conditioner controls AND the TV remote, and playing her daughters and daughter-in-law like the ladies-in-waiting she secretly thinks we are.
Here’s a conundrum that, like parenting, is something only those with experience should comment on. Given that the woman does not want to move to the indie section of an ALF (or any other section), and is totally capable of a sit-down strike, do we move her basic furniture first and then whisk her into the new digs before taking her on a visit to the old house for some hand picking of her other things, or do we spend a day or two with her in the old house packing around her and letting her “choose” which items to move and then rent a giant crowbar to get her out?
Given the time constraints we’ll all be under, the former has a certain efficient, if ruthless, charm. Given the golden rule, the latter does offer a kind of purgatorial discount. I mean, we’re all going to hell anyway, why make it worse if not to assuage the collective conscience by doing what seems so right, so respectful, so soothing to our audience of friends and well-wishers?