Mis-speaking and mis-hearing are two problems that everyone has, but especially so when you get older.  Following are three examples that have come to light.  The first is from my cousin, Terri:

“Jim and I have come to the age where our listening/hearing skills aren’t so sharp.  To get this story you have to say ‘denturists’ and ‘dead tourists.’  Jim was working in the driveway.  I had just come home from the grocery store.  Jim started talking to me about dead tourists.  Not a very cheery hello.  I asked him why he wanted to talk to me about dead tourists.  He said he was trying to tell me about Nels (a kid who grew up in the neighborhood).  I asked WHAT does Nels have to do with dead tourists?  Jim said that’s what he was trying to tell me.  He had seen a thing on dead tourists on TV and Nels was in it.  He didn’t act like he was sharing a tragedy, more like he was sharing a fun fact.  It was close to Halloween, so I thought maybe there was a creepy movie called Dead Tourists and Nels was in it.  I asked if we were talking about a movie.  No we were NOT talking about a movie.  He was trying to tell me that he saw an ad on TV for a dead tourist group and Nels was in it.  Okay, I thought, Nels is musical.  Maybe the group was a band, like Nels and the Dead Tourists.  I asked if we were talking about a band.  NO we were NOT talking about a band.  And then Jim was frustrated that I kept trying to change the subject to movies and bands and I thought my time would be better spent putting away the groceries as this dead tourist talk was going nowhere.  Later, it came clear that Nels is in an ad for a denturist group and he looks just like his dad.

“I wish I could say that this was a one and done, but we keep doing this.  Nearly every day.”

Which reminds me of an exchange between my children and my elderly father:

Tom Kerns was a widower living alone up the hill after Janet died.  Life might have been lonely for him except that he had a houseful of grandchildren living a half mile down the road who came daily to eat the ice cream that he kept there for bait, to give him company, and to play him a game of chess.  One of them called his Grampa his “best friend” because he could talk to him about anything, and Grampa was always a willing listener.  His listening abilities, however, were sometimes a bit limited, as the following exchange will demonstrate:

Grampa:  “What are you taking in school this year?”

Grandson:  “Science and language arts.”

Grampa:  “Silence!!—and Laundry Charts?!!”

The third story was contributed by my son, Matt, the veterinarian, whose employee has a relative who is a doctor.

A black lady came to the doctor demanding a “peanut butter roll” for her “smiley, mighty Jesus.”  Perhaps the problem was her accent, or perhaps it was the doctor’s ears, but for the life of him he couldn’t come to grips with what it was that she wanted.  I’m sure he thought about referring her to a bakery or maybe a church.  He asked her again and again to repeat the request.  It always came out that she wanted a peanut butter roll for her smiley, mighty Jesus.

I didn’t hear whether the lady finally got the phenobarbital for her spinal meningitis or not.