A Helping Hand
I was walking home today and happened to notice this little old lady who must have been ten years older than God, come out of a convenience store and start to enter the apartment building next door. As I started to pass by, she stopped me. She was dressed appropriately for the weather, but her clothes were worn and stained. She was short enough for me to tower over her, but since she needed some assistance, I could not pass her by.
She immediately started a spiel in Hungarian, but before I could tell her I did not speak Hungarian, she had thrust something into my hand. It was her little one and a half shot of palinka, the Hungarian brandy. Then it dawned on me, she could not open the twist off top. As I unscrewed it for her, she continued with her monologue and showed me her swollen arthritic hand. She thanked me profusely as I walked away. Thank you is in my vocabulary in a number of languages.