As you might imagine, Willie’s friends — a cohort of fellow independent-living cronies — were aghast at Willie’s move to memory care. 

Even if it was just six days. 

The upgrade to assisted living did nothing to quell their alarm. 

In fact, a bevy of Willie-adjacent people had a few things to say on the matter. 

Not that I asked. 

The first round of commentary came in the early days of Willie’s big move. 

I had updated Willie’s friends on the whole abrupt-move thing going on with Willie. 

OK. So maybe I did ask for it. 

Apparently, I was amiss in not spreading Willie’s private health information around town.  

At least, that’s what Willie’s friends said. 

Should I have notified everyone with whom Willie comes in contact? 

I mean, it’s kind of public knowledge. 

And how would I notify everyone, exactly, if not through this platform and social media?  

I suppose I could have made posters, yard sale-like, stapling them on telephone poles from Willie’s place to Florida, as her contacts extend throughout the Eastern Seaboard. 

Or maybe eliminate things like dinners with my family, showers, and those luxuriant five hours of sleep each night to sit down and call everyone Willie knows. 

I mean, I don’t really need to be so spoiled that I have the occasional home-cooked meal. And actual REM sleep is so indulgent. Who am I? A Kardashian? Next I’ll be getting vampire facials and dating Tmotheé Chalamet. 

Yeah. 

Hot on those heels were Willie’s now ex-neighbors in Hallway C at the Temple of Doom. 

Although the Temple of Doom management mandated Willie’s move, and despite my brother being Willie’s court-appointed guardian, and regardless of my sister’s existence and involvement in the move, Hallway C declared me Public Enemy Number One for The Aged. 

If Willie just called me before going out, couldn’t she stay? Why did I leapfrog right over assisted living into memory care when Willie so obviously has no problems whatsoever? And nefarious spell had I cast to move Willie to memory care in the first place? 

Hallway C is, en masse, safeguarding themselves from their children doing to them what I’ve done to Willie. 

Or so they’ve told me. 

Ask me how many cookies I’ve had since that police officer found Willie. 

How I became the bad guy in this situation is an easy explanation. 

Willie tells people I’m the bad guy. 

Yeah. Not my favorite thing. But it makes for great stories. 

It’s also common in Alzheimer’s disease. Which is something I tell myself as I plow through chocolate chip cookies like I’m Lucy Ricardo in the candy factory. 

Don’t worry. I’m doing the whole winter arc thing. No cookies for a bit. 

What do you guys think? Is a week enough? Five days? Seventy-two hours? 

Yeah. Let’s go with that. Seventy-two hours without cookies. 

That’s interminable. 

I have to say, though, I’m liking the whole idea of being, to paraphrase Aaron Burr in Hamilton, the villain in Willie’s history. 

Because I just watched Carry-On and Jason Bateman — affable, funny, perpetual buddy Jason Bateman — is the bad guy. 

And he’s so good. 

He dipped his toe in the waters of villainy with Ozark. But Carry-On is a full-tilt swim.  

If Jason Bateman can be a pretend degenerate, I can be a pretend degenerate too. 

But then, while cleaning out Willie’s independent living apartment, I had a visitor. 

It was a resident of Hallway C.  

“You’re doing the right thing,” she said. “It was time.” 

She then told me stories — stories I had not been privy to. How Willie couldn’t navigate the Temple of Doom, so her friends had coalesced, taking turns escorting her to activities. 

How Willie couldn’t execute the steps needed to get cash, so she borrowed from the folks in Hallway C. 

How there were incidents with the rideshare apps Willie used, so her friends had taken to chauffeuring Willie when they knew she had somewhere to be. 

“That’s kind of nice,” my husband said. “Usually, the herd drops the infirm one.” 

“The others,” this resident of Hallway C said, “they don’t like this. They see it happening to them. But you did the right thing. It was time.” 

Let me tell you something about this resident. 

I really dig her. Always have, for the most part. 

But Willie? Not so much. 

See, when Willie moved in, this resident told Willie she — this resident — was “in charge” of Hallway C.  

And everybody who lived there. 

So in short order, Willie usurped this resident.  

I — I don’t think I want to live in the hallway where the single rational person is overthrown for the lady who skipped out on taxes for half a decade. 

But hey. You guys do you. I’m sure the IRS supports your decision. They were all too happy to keep Willie’s refunds. 

So this is where we are. Willie and her friends have declared war on me. Willie’s frenemy is the only one of her ex-neighbors in my corner. I’m aspiring to be Jason Bateman. And I can’t have cookies for three days. 

I’ll catch you guys later. I’m going to have that brownie I stashed. 

It should tide me over until I can have cookies again.