Sweet Jeebus, she's driving me crazy. How is it possible for a sweet, little old lady to be so . . . so . . . aaaaaargh!
Today, she needs to go to the post office.
Fine.
She needs to get dog food.
Fine.
And it HAS to be from PetCo (which happens to be at the center of a small nexus of evil along State Street in a crowded strip mall).
Fine.
Oh, and she needs bird seed too. (This involves wandering aimlessly around the giant PetCo while she mutters about not remembering what kind of birdseed it is she usually gets to feed the eight million obivously starving little birds outside--do you think they all sit outside her bedroom window at night sending her telepathic messages: Feed us, or we'll kill the little brown dog?)
Fine. We'll go to PetCo; we'll go to the post office.
In the meantime, she's asks me what do I want for breakfast/lunch (I slept late--which she has pointed out to me, as if I've somehow disrupted her plans for the day; but it's not like she couldn't have gotten me up earlier).
Hmmmmm. I look inside the fridge.
Turkey leftovers.
Hmmmm, I've been eating those at least twice a day for two days now. And let's face it, I'm not crazy about turkey. It's really the crap you get along with the turkey that I get excited about: the stuffing, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the sweet potatoes--all the stuff that you slather the turkey in to give it taste. But those things are long gone. Besides, it's all the stuff you can make with the turkey later, like turkey tetrazzini, turkey chili, turkey enchiladas that I like about turkey leftovers. Notice how none of these things involve slathering two slices of dry bread with mayonaise, throwing a chunk of cold turkey on it, and then for some reason calling it a sandwich.
And, as full as the fridge appears, we really only have a strange assortment of cheese products (not like real cheese, but Kraft cheese in various sizes, shapes, and colors), precooked microwaveable bacon, two cartons of eggs, some rotting vegetables, some stale restaurant leftovers from some time last week, and some low carb bread in there. Out of sheer self-preservation, I scrambled two eggs for lunch.
And now, I'm sure she's wondering why I'm sitting typing at the computer and not toting her off to the post office--mind you she'll wait in the car at the post office (so why is she coming along at all?).
I love her. I do. She just drives me bonkers.
And she's just brought me a Russian teacake cookie. Sure, it's been in a tin in the garage for a month, but she found them at last. And she made them especially for me. A month ago.
You want another sordid truth . . .? I like the Russian teacake cookies, but they're not my favorite. I really, really like the little pudding cookies she makes for Erik. But if I eat them, she scolds me and tells me those are Erik's cookies.
Yes, of course they are. That's why I wait for her to retire to her room for the night and then I raid the forbidden cookies. Don't worry, Erik, I'll save some for you! But only if you get back here soon and keep me from throttling a cute little old grandma.
