This is the last time I offer to help an old bitch down the steps!

She was hunched over, frail and carried a cane.  At the edge of the steps about to walk down she looked so teeny, susceptible to an unhealthy tumble.  “Sure you don’t want to take the elevator, Methuselah?”  I said.  “No, no, I’ll be fine,” she warbled.   That lying wrinkly twat!  I’d seen her before.  We’d had the loveliest of chats — she’s 200 years old, she is, and had some stories to tell from the days of yore, as you might imagine.  But the last time I recall she had taken the elevator, as I had suggested.

Well, I just couldn’t see it, her getting down those stairs in one piece.  I ran to aid her.  “I’ll help you — here,” I said offering my arm.  “Well, I could just hold the banister,” she said.  But it was two miles away from where we stood in the center of the steps.  “Here, let me,” I said again.  “Oh, o-okay,” she warbled taking my arm, and blibbity, bop, clop, cloppity, clack, crack – we both fell!  “Oh, oh, I told you I wanted to hold the banister,” she bleated – “You meant well, but you don’t know how to hold a person,” she scolded.  What the — why, I orta!  We finally got her old ass up off the steps, she went to her car and drove away.

From here on end, any half-dead, dried up raisins I see who need help crossing the street, or stepping off the bus can kiss my ass!  And I’ll be good goddamed if you get my seat on the bus – no, no, I’ll continue to do this – so people can see how magnanimous I am.  But other than that I mean well, but I just don’t know how to hold a person — so fuck off and die!