This week’s installment for Six Sentence Sunday comes from an earlier section of Cinnimin. It’s the beginning of 1995, and Cinnimin’s very elderly maternal grandma Krystyna is being buried. Violet’s most belovèd servant, who’s been in her family since her mother was a teenager, comments for the umpteenth time in recent years on how depressed he is to have lived over 100. Violet is quite bemused at the response from her friend Max’s daughter Bobbie Jo, a local journalist who thrives on sleazy, sensationalistic stories.
“I wish I could jump in after her,” Butler Reagan remarked.
“Don’t worry, you’re the next-oldest person in town now,” Bobbie Jo reassured him. “Your turn will be soon.”
Violet glared at her. “He’s only a hundred five.”
“And who would that ‘only’ modifier be in comparison to, Methuselah?”