Dad’s car is missing. Old lady can see where he parks it – right in front of her sunning and exercise stoep of the frailcare section. And it isn’t there. Uh Oh! She’s worried. Later she finds out. ‘Oh, I went shopping. Don’t worry, I got permission from Sister Rose!’
And then again: This time, ‘Oh, my microwave packed up; Johan said he had an old one lying around that I could have, so I drove over to his place and fetched it.’
He’s about halfway through his current five-year validity period. He’s legal till he’s one hundred years and five months old.
It’s not quite like this:
. . yet . .