Today at the dementia ward, not a word of exaggeration:

Penny: A choir is coming soon.
Dot: (alarmed) There’s a fire?
Penny: No, there’s going to be a choir.
Dot: There’s going to be a fire?
Penny: No. A choir! They’re going to come here and sing some lovely songs.
Dot: I couldn’t care less about the songs.
Penny: That’s not true, Dot. You love songs. You were just singing along with the CD a minute ago.
Dot: Yes, but not if we’re all going to be burned to death.

Mollie’s conversation, meanwhile, consists almost entirely of nods and headshakes. We tried to entice her into exercising her arms by playing with a balloon. After responding with apparent indifference for a while, she eventually batted the balloon in my direction with an emphatic backhander. I thought she had a mean look in her eye when she did it, but thought I must be mistaken, because she has such a sweet disposition. Later Penny confirmed that she shared my impression: every time Mollie hit the ball in my direction it was as if to say, ‘Take that, and f*** off!’

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