About 4 or 5 years ago, George was very, very sick. He was telling everybody he had Cirrhosis of the liver. I asked him about it yesterday and he hem hawed around the issue not telling me the truth - vaguely saying something about pain in his abdomen. This morning, just a moment ago, Mrs. Florene called me about breakfast and the weather.
"George gets off at seven and we will eat about seven thirty. I am cooking pancakes and sausage," she told me over the phone.
"Sorry Mrs. Florene. I can't come," I told her. "It is raining buckets and I don't have an umbrella."
She told me she was getting me an umbrella for Christmas. I laughed jovially and thanked her. She so wanted me to come for breakfast and told me so. She likes cooking for her "boys." I have adopted a black family. My other family.
Well, I took the opportunity to ask Mrs. Florene about George's supposed cirrhosis scare. Curiosity always killed the cat as they say.
"Baby, he had bad kidney stones when he was in the hospital!" she said. "I got all over him for telling people that. He really was in terrible pain, though."
Finally, the truth revealed. I am glad I asked. George just wanted the death scare attention. That bastard! I was worried sick and thought I was losing a friend! I was mystified when he kept plodding along though and drinking like a fish like nothing ever happened. I had always thought he was in remission.