A light sprinkle fell on the surface of the hotel Jacuzzi I’d lowered into just moments before. Sprays of steam vaporized into the early morning mist overhead. You couldn’t tell where the steam left off and the mist began. Frothy bubbles pounded against the aches and pains of the once-but-not-so-much-anymore-finely-tuned body.
Three younger, pre-grandma age, women joined me in the tub. One befriended a snail wandering close to the tiled edge. “He’s on the move,” the gal said.
I might mention the snail traveled a tad faster than I’d rolled out of bed on my short vacation this past weekend. I saw him (all snails are guys, right?) dip his antenna into the stream of water surrounding the Jacuzzi. As soon as he felt the warm water, he slowly turned to head in another direction.
“Sometimes I forget what I’m saying,” one of my tub-mates complained.
“Just wait,” I interjected.
“You mean it gets worse?” asked another.
“Worse than what?” I asked, clueless. (Just kidding. I knew what I had just said.) “It does,” I explained.
In my mind I recalled my recent Lo-Ro-Ma episode, reminding me of the snail who’d cautiously made the about-face turn. The other day, Couponman and I had the three grandchildren for a play date. I’d wanted to get the toddler’s (sounds so old, but guess that’s what I have to call the baby who is now vertical, at least some of the time) attention. Instead, out of my mouth came “Lo.” I realized immediately I’d uttered the wrong starting syllable. I stopped, only to hear “Ro,” another wrong attempt, escape from my lips. Again I stopped before completing a call for the wrong child. “Ma…,” I said. Before I could add the second syllable to the youngest one’s name, the oldest grandchild asked, ‘Grandma, who is Lo-Ro-Ma?’”
“A famous cellist,” answered Couponman, totally clueless. 
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Love it!!