There was an old lady, must have been 90, being examined near me. If grand old dames ever existed, she was one: entirely charming and polite, but direct to the point.
They were talking about cataract surgery for her, when she loudly butted in, “yes, I understand that, but it’s going to have to wait, they’re operating on my fanny next week”. And into the silence that followed, “there’s no point telling me much more, I won’t remember, I’m a bit worried about this fanny thing, you see?”
Later, as the porter wheeled her by, she was telling him how lovely and polite they were, and how understanding about her fanny.