betty

This is Nana Parsons, on the right. (My mom, Suzanne, is the lady in pink.) Nana P turned 90 yesterday, so we celebrated with a decadent amount of Chinese food at my parents house in the suburbs. We hung out this afternoon, when everyone else went to work.

Over coffee she told me about the boys who had asked her to marry them --she declined several--and my grandfather, who was a life guard. She walked by him on the beach and he begged her for a date. He lied and told her he was 2 years older than he was in his effort to convince her to accept, which she eventually did.

She also told me she used to smoke a pack a day, before she knew that cigarettes were an unhealthy endeavor. She went to hypnosis to quit, and it worked.

lastly, Nana P bitched about her best friend of 60 years, Irene. Irene is a real handful for Betty. She complains alot and pretends to know many things that, if pressed, she clearly doesn't really know. (Nana P thinks this is in an effort to "one up" her.)

 Betty also wants Irene to wear her hearing aid instead of [constantly] complaining that no one speaks loudly enough, and to stop copying her outfit styles. That is the real frustration: Irene always wants to look like Betty.

But at 90, who wouldn't?

"You can tell alot of those other women... didn't use any face cream!" Nana P, in reference to why she has such nice skin for her age.