“Did you bring it?” Jacob, a doddery octogenarian, shuffled to meet me.
“She’s turning ninety, you know.” He grasped his special order—a potted pink petunia, the number 90 painted on the pot
Daphne still saw Jacob as the ‘stud’ who had sauntered into the aged care home twenty years ago. He had scanned the room, ‘eyeing up the talent.’ The beautiful sprightly seventy-year old had caught Jacob’s eye.
Walking frame and wheelchair rolled towards the residents’ lounge, the potted delight’s heart shaped petals trailing the sweet scent of love, the fragrance masking the sanitised smell of old age.
“She’s turning ninety, you know.” He grasped his special order—a potted pink petunia, the number 90 painted on the pot
Daphne still saw Jacob as the ‘stud’ who had sauntered into the aged care home twenty years ago. He had scanned the room, ‘eyeing up the talent.’ The beautiful sprightly seventy-year old had caught Jacob’s eye.
Walking frame and wheelchair rolled towards the residents’ lounge, the potted delight’s heart shaped petals trailing the sweet scent of love, the fragrance masking the sanitised smell of old age.
