The Servant Who Replaced Me
I was never cut out to be a lady-in-waiting, but they found one for the right price.
Just as SallyJo had found a young man to replace BrotherBlackSheep, she found a servant to replace me a decade or more ago. That’s a good thing.
Manuela is my same age and is paid $30 per hour cash to be SallyJo’s lady-in-waiting eight hours a day. The other hours of the day my father, also a nonagenarian like my mother, is expected to fill in the gaps as her exchequer, despatching letters and mean-spirited edicts to people she does not like.
This is an arrangement they enjoy, for whatever reason, some kind of elderly fantasy role playing that keeps them going. For decades now, my mother has truly believed she is royalty. It embarrasses everyone.
While we were growing up, Dad had excused his miserly approach to over-saving by saying he was going to need it in retirement. Well, he was right.
All those foregone family vacations and decent clothing and a grill, a lawnmower, real orange juice, a pizza night, were sacrificed. It was an austere childhood.
Dad’s brief experiment in tropical living, dragging us half way around the world, was party contrived to provide Mother with the servants she thought she deserved: one for ironing, one for laundry, one for cooking, one for cleaning. But that ended badly.
At any rate, Manuela is happy to play the part for the cash SallyJo dispenses. She is oblivious to the shade Mother throws on her when she’s not there, disparaging her children and grandchildren. Calling her a mountain hick.
And that’s how my parents have spent their retirement watching faux news, pretending to be royalty, and maligning their children and few friends. No loving words. Only poisonous darts.
I am Savannah StJohn and this is what has happened.
It’s all to do with the training: you can do a lot if you’re properly trained. Queen Elizabeth II
