For someone that walks like a turtle, Mavis is pretty agile when you throw a sweaty sock at her. I did it once, just to wake her up. Mavis is truly a force, though, when she holds a bb-gun. I half expect her to be carrying one when she comes to the door. “Hey Mavis,” I’m shouting as I pound on her door. "Mavis, come open the door. I brought you clean socks."
I finally hear the icy roll of her wheels and the low bump-shuffle as she moves across the wood floor with her walker, cursing me under her breath for making her get up. I can picture the little rose circles she paints on her face to pass as a skin tone and her big pink glasses to match, but then i remember she hasn't had her hair done for months, and when her hair isn't done she can't be bothered with anything more taxing than flipping the channels from "The Price is Right" to "Highway to Heaven" re-runs to any other number of shows that are really viewed best while snoring and half one eye open.
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