Pull up a chair and sit right down. Lisette Belliveau has story for you. A story about good versus evil, young punks versus old farts, and being out past one’s bedtime.
It all began at the late hour of 10 p.m. You’re absolutely right, 10 o’clock isn’t all that late at night – if you are under the age of fifty. Lisette fit nicely into that category and that’s why she was on her way to catch the latest Leonardo DiCaprio movie when everything happened. As she was heading towards the exit of the subway station she heard a woman cry out.
“Help! Help! This boy’s trying to steal my purse!”
Lisette turned in the direction of the cries and sure enough, there was a young man trying to steal the purse of a senior citizen. Lizette couldn’t tell which she was most shocked by: the fact that people have the nerve to steal from someone’s grandma, or that someone as old as this lady was out at that hour.
“Shouldn’t she be coated in medicinal ointments and tucked away in bed by now?” she asked herself. No matter, there was someone in need of help and Lisette was going to do her part.
She ran as fast as she could towards the perpetrator and caught up to him in the middle of the stairwell that lead outside. Flying towards him as though she could have been an early prototype for Super Girl, Lisette landed on him in the spread eagle position and started pummeling him.
“You will not steal from old people! You will not steal from old people!” she screamed at the piece of garbage beneath her. “Someone call the cops while I hold him down!” she then yelled at those around her. Only she couldn’t hold him down. Somehow the punk managed to toss her off of himself, and sent her reeling down the stairs. She heard her wrist snap the second she hit the pavement, but she also noticed that the old lady’s purse was in her other hand, safe from the purse snatcher.
“And that’s how I hurt my wrist,” she said to the attending physician at a nearby hospital. “I have no idea if they caught the guy, but at least the little old lady got her purse back.”
“That was quite the story,” the doctor said. “You’re lucky you weren’t more seriously injured.”
The doctor was right on at least one point, it was quite the story. Quite the made up story. Lisette didn’t break her wrist helping an old lady in distress. She broke her wrist when she fell out of bed. On her own ever since she and her boyfriend broke up two years ago, Lisette decided that a dog would make good company. So she went to the shelter and adopted a one hundred and fifty pound male mastiff she called Tiny.
Tiny doesn’t care for the dog bed Lisette bought him, but he does love her big, comfy queen size bed and he’s more than willing to live with the 90/10 rule…ninety percent of the bed for him, ten percent for her. The two went to bed at their usual ten o’clock (only in her wildest fantasies is Lisette still able to stay up past that), and promptly fell asleep. Forgetting the 90/10 rule, Tiny stretched as far as his supermodel-length legs could stretch and hit Lisette with such force she was thrown to the floor.
That’s how she broke her arm, but she wasn’t about to tell that pathetic story to the doctor. That would be akin to hanging a sign around her neck letting everyone know she was a boring lonely spinster.
“Oh well, the main thing is that sweet old lady got her purse back,” Lisette said to the doctor. “I will sleep better tonight knowing that.”
And if Tiny stays on his side of the bed.