Vengeance.

Remember that time I said I almost got into a fight with a 92 year old woman? Yeah. I'm totally serious.

My grandmother, the sassy one, lives in a nursing home. (Where she has turned into a bit of a tart, always sitting next to the men.) We got a phone call from them the other day, saying she was being taken to the emergency room because another resident bit her. No lie.

I'm sorry, but what?? Biting? Really?

Mom and I took off to meet Gram at the ER, and by some stroke of luck, I went to high school with one of the ambulance drivers. As they checked her out, he and I waited in the hall and chatted. I was slightly confused by the whole biting thing, and asked if he knew what happened. Now, as a family member you're not supposed to know the details--like, say, who the biter is. But...well...let's just say I stumbled onto some information. And for the sake of my blog, let's say that I discovered that I have psychic abilities. Amazing! And then let's pretend that the biter is named Ethel. (Name has been changed to protect my grandmother, in case Ethel is still out for blood.)
I finally saw my grandma, and you could tell by looking at her bandaged finger that Ethel did some serious damage. There was a lot of blood, for someone with 92 year old teeth. (Or likely, fake teeth.) So I was pretty upset...my grandma is 91 and not exactly the picture of health. This is not the kind of thing you like to see happen. After the hospital gave her a tetanus shot, in case Ethel is diseased, they left us until they could put her in a room in the ER to stitch up her hand. So we waited. And waited. And waited.
Then our ambulance drivers were back, with another old lady! We greeted each other in the weary way of people who are spending their evening in an emergency room. Outside our curtained area, we heard them shout (for she was old), "ETHEL, ARE YOU FEELING OK?"

ETHEL??

I stared at my mother. "Is that her?" I whispered. Mom poked her head into the hall and caught the eye of our ambulance friend.
"Is that the biter?" It was confirmed. She was in because of something completely different--a bladder infection or something.
I could see Ethel from my seat, who kept looking at me. That did not sit well, let me tell you. I had a lot to say to Ethel, all of which I kept hissing in her direction.
"God works in mysterious way, Ethel!"
"DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME!"
"Karma is a bitch, Ethel!"

It was that last one, along with my gesturing frequently that I was watching her, that prompted my mother to tell me it would be embarrassing to be removed by security from the emergency room because I threatened an old lady. Well, she had a point. But the hag mangled my grandparent! That is not something I take lightly!

Eventually we got a room and the nurse came to sew her up--and needed to put ELEVEN stitches on the knuckle of one finger. That is what kind of damage Ethel did. Did you know there was room for 11 stitches on your knuckle? Because I surely didn't. She bit down to the tendon. Also, they x-rayed her hand just in case Ethel broke her.

In the end, I haven't seen Ethel around the nursing home--but trust and believe, lady, that I will keep my eyes open for your bloodied face.