A Bonny Wee Lassie

CHAPTER FIVE - Big Mac

"What's that?" Esther put her cup down with a jolt and frowned, turning her head from side to side, trying to identify the direction the sound was coming from.

"What? I can't hear anything 'cept the normal Friday afternoon busyness of ev'ryone and their dog, awl shopping for the long weekend... " Betty would have rolled her eyes, but Esther was looking intently at her.

"It's a bell ringing."

"Nah... that's only on Sundays, just before the holy jumpers all pile into their church!" Betty's tone left no doubt what she felt about all things religious and churchified as she always called them.

"I tell you, I hear a single bell ringing - and it's NOT a church bell. And... it's getting closer."

Suddenly, Esther's voice changed. "It's your husband for heaven's sake Betty. Look - it's Mac!"

"Och... well, of course it is. I'd be forgetting me own head if it wasn't screwed on proper. He's doing his crying about that weekend Market Show. Get them folks all stirred up like, make sure they're not forgetting it, yer know?"

"Crying, Betty?" Esther's eyes widened. "The Town Crier surely does a bit more than crying when he struts around town, ringing his bell and shouting out the news to all and sundry. And when he's as tall as Mac and has a voice THAT powerful... well-ll, it surely puts busking in the shade."

"Bussing? Well, of course... he's a school bus driver too, but he doesna go dressing up for that job. And he doesna do any shouting aboot it. Well, none I've been hearin', anyways." She sniffed to make her point. "Pretty ornery sorta work, if yer ask me... 'though it does take a bit of that true grit stuff most days, with all them kids..."

Esther took a large mouthful of her coffee and then a slow, deep breath to restore her patience before she answered. "Busking, I said, Betty. BUSKING! You know - those wannabe musician types on the streets who play guitars and things, or sing, or dance - and have a tin or a hat for people to drop money into." Esther shook her head slowly. "I hate to say it old dear, but I think your 20:20 hearing is shrinking, just like the rest of your small self."

"20:20, yer say?" Now Betty did roll her eyes. "That's na aboot yer hearin', yer silly wee lassie! That'd be yer eyes." And she tch-tched out the side of her mouth, eyebrows lifted high and widening her eyes to their utmost stretch.

"Oh no! You've got it wrong, Betty my girl. Mostly, our perfect hearing range is from 20Hertz to 20,000 Hertz—"

"Hurts, you say?" Betty's eyes looked ready to pop out on sticks. "20,000 hurts. Nahhr... I couldna cope wid that. I've got enough hurts already!"

"Ohh Betty... sshhh, and listen to me. I said Hertz!" and Esther spelled it out, slowly and carefully. "It's a measure of sound. They say our 'norm' is much less than that, and our range gets smaller as we age."

"Hmm... " Betty wasn't sure if this was a fact or not, but she was obviously losing her edge... fast. And so she changed the subject before all was lost. "Anyways, going back to Big Mac, the thing I keep telling him is that he doesn't have to shout all the time. It's abnormal. And it's disrespect of me and me ears, both."

"Ohh Betty. I hate to say it dear, but I really think the time has come to think about hearing aids." Esther grimaced, sure that her words would unleash a verbal firestorm. Instead, her words fell on deaf ears, as it were.

"ME? 'ave some earrings made? Who'd yer reckon I am? Some kind of Rocker-bloomin'-feller?"