Grandma and the isotopes

You know when you're searching for something in your email?  You type in a word like "flapjacks" in the search box because you just know you have a flapjack recipe that your cousin sent to you three years ago.  You always meant to use it.  Surely you didn't delete it.  There are 7497 MB of storage space in this mailbox.  You keep everything.  Where is it?  Then you find yourself scouring message threads from years past (that may or may not have contained the word "flapjack") about which you had completely forgotten?  Sometimes you stop to read and reminisce or think about your situation at that point in your life.

Well, this happened to me when I searched the word "pie" (most of my searches are food-related), and I came across a series of emails between me and my sister, Tara.   This correspondence occurred over a period of time when she was living in Italy and I was staying with my grandmother for a summer in between semesters.   Tara was feeling full of woe, mostly due to the constant striking of the Italian transportation labor unions, which made her commute to work hellish to say the least.  Every day I was receiving an email with yet another tale of woe to the point where I ended up writing,

"No offense when I tell you that having a 'tale of woe' to look forward to in your emails is not the most scintillating thing.  Could you maybe change it up every once in a while and re-title these anecdotes more positively, like Tales of Once in a Lifetime Opportunities, or Tales of Doing Something Amazing?  That'd be swell and way more uplifting."

In return, I promised her a limerick.  Who doesn't like a limerick?  They are fun, they are familiar, they are rhyme-y.  They all consist of the same format and rhythm.  For many, they are a creative way to tell a dirty joke.  (We've all heard about that poor girl from Nantucket.)  But for my sister, I decided to try a daily dose of limericks based on the ridiculousness of my life living with Grandma.  Take, for instance, the isotopes.  I had forgotten all about them until I found this gem in the same series of emails:

"Today G'ma had her stress test.  I dropped her off at the doctor this morning and she told me to come back and pick her up when she was done.  Boy was she cranky this morning, having had no coffee for 3 days and no food since 6 am.  Well, when I picked her up she said, 'Now I have to drink lots of water because Tom told me that I'm full of isotopes.'  Tom was the technician at the doctor's office.  G'ma loves Tom because he was very nice to her and calmed her down.  She said she asked Tom how long she was going to be full of isotopes and he said, 'That is a very good question.'  And then he guessed that it would be about three weeks.  Now G'ma uses this excuse for everything.  Example:  'Lisa, I'm going to lie down because of the isotopes.'"

Well, upon reading this I didn't even remember what an isotope was, but this is what I wrote to Tara:

Do you know what an isotope is?
They're the cool thing to say in the biz
of handling old ladies
who drive big mercedes
to the doc for a stress test pop quiz.     

There it is.  Your daily dose of poetry.  It didn't hurt, did it?