Two care home residents and best friends argue about who's calling Elsa old
|"I'm getting old," moaned Elsa, as she eased herself carefully into one of the care home's many armchairs.
"Well, you are ninety," yelled Mary.
"Are you calling me old?" Elsa glared at her, brandishing her walking stick menacingly.
"Me? Call you old? Never in a million years, you daft nugget. You said you were getting old."
"Yeah, getting old! Not old! You called me old!"
"I said you were ninety - Not old!"
""Ninety's old!" Elsa huffed.
"You said it!" Mary said.
"There you go again!" Elsa shifted forward in her seat.
Will shook his head, stifling a laugh as he watched the scene in front of him from the lounge door.
"Those two at it again?" Lisa drew to a stop beside Will and stared at the far corner where the argument was getting heated.
Will nodded. "You wouldn't believe Elsa and Mary were best friend, would you?"
"Best of friends and worst of enemies," agreed his colleague. "What's this one about?"
"Whether or not ninety is old."
"Right, Will - you distract them while I set up the bingo game."
Will pushed himself up by the elbow and made his way over to the warring friends.
"Well then, ladies, what's going on here?"
Elsa turned her head towards Will and batted her eyelashes at him. "Ooh, William! There you are! Would you say I'm old?"
"Of course not, Elsa, you're at the prime of your life!"
Now it was Mary's turn to huff. "Creep!" She brushed an imaginary crumb from her dress trousers.
Will smiled at sixty-year-old Mary. "And you, my darling, are nothing more than a spring chicken."
Mary beamed. "That's more like it."
Meanwhile, Lisa had finished setting up the bingo set. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, who's for bingo?"