"Cream-Cheese Frosting and Prednisone" by Beth Gordon
A telemarketer tried to sell me medical supplies after I filled out a survey to help Betty Crocker. You’re of Medicaid age, she said, you’ve gotta start thinking about these things, I can offer discounts on extra-large gauze bandages and rubber mats that adjust to the odd shape of your feet. I want cake, I explained, new ways to incorporate the remnants of my herb garden into cobbler, couscous, gluten-free waffle batter, I’ve never perfected the art of poaching eggs and I was hoping to win a year’s subscription complete with seasonal recipes and tips on throwing pop-up soirees without dipping into my Social Security. Hemorrhoid ointment, she insisted, multi-pack adult diapers, automated toilet flushers, holographic nurses’ aides, how can you think of food at your advancing age?