A Kiss is Still a Kiss

Last night at my hospice job, I took care of a darling older gentleman. Because no family was with him and he seemed to crave company, I spent extra time in his room. Around nine o'clock, to help him have a good night's rest, I rubbed his feet with lotion, gave him a sleeping pill, and covered him up with a handmade quilt.

After I pulled the quilt up around his shoulders and tucked him in snugly, he looked at me with lovely blue eyes and said, "my grandmother used to tuck me in like that."

"Really?" I stroked his hair. "I bet that was nice."

"Then," with a bit of a devilish twinkle in those same eyes, "she used to give me a big kiss."

"Oh. Well then, I guess I better give you one of those," I said.

I flashed him a smile, then planted my lips on his forehead. "How's that?" I asked.

"It'll do."

Not exactly the rave review I expected for my efforts.

But not exactly, I suspect, what my dear friend had in mind!