Alfred and Molly were now very much in the camp of the ancients although they liked to think of themselves as young at heart. Although they were both frail ninetysomethings, they refused to let ill health or the occasional mishap deter them from enjoying life to the full. They were on the ball, alert and always game for some fun. They attributed their zest for life to the regular consumption of several good size tots of whisky every day, mostly with water, occasionally with ice when it was hot and sometimes with ginger ale.
“Sorry, darling, could only find the cheap stuff today.”
“Never mind, at least we didn’t run out.”
Running out of whisky was considered the end of the world – a disaster too terrible that it had only twice happened in all the years they had been together.
Their son Nick came to visit one weekend. He watched the debate with interest and when he got home, he sent them a case of Chivas. He was so proud of his parents and how full of life they were, and he was glad in his heart to do something for them.
Much to his surprise, the case was returned three days later. He smiled at their independence, and sent his mother a text:
“Do you really not like Chivas?”
The reply came straight back.
“We love it more than anything.”
“Why send it back then?”
“Someone might break in and steal it.”
“Please, Mum, be serious. That cannot be the only reason.”
“All right. We are both terrified that we might die before we finish drinking it!”
*
“My parents always loved a glass of whisky.”
“I can’t say I’ve drunk it very often.”
“I love a glass of single malt. No ice and a little water.”
“Why do you need a little water?”
“It releases the flavour. I can quite see myself drinking more of it as I approach my twilight years.”
“You old lush.”
“It thins the blood and preserves the joints.”
“These two are a pair of old lushes, too,” said Mabel.
“Who cares?” said Maude. “They’re still having fun!”