"Are you ever getting up?" I asked once, as a teenager.
"Someone tell Netflix to stop suggesting thrillers. I am already stressed about my plants." aunty in bed
By 8 a.m., she'd be propped against three feather pillows, a steaming chai on the nightstand, and her old reading glasses perched halfway down her nose. The duvet was pulled up to her chin, even in summer. "The fan is trying to assassinate me," she'd insist, pointing a bony finger at the ceiling. "Are you ever getting up