Recently, my creativity has been drained. Because of this, I haven’t been updating my blog as quickly as some would like. My theory, is that I would rather give you quality posts that make you urinate your gauchos, than update my blog daily about how some girl’s weave was falling out in the Dollar General checkout lane. Let’s face it, there are only so many weave jokes you can make before it gets old. I like to keep it fresh and by the way, if you are wearing gauchos as you read this, turn off your computer and never read my blog again. I am ashamed and disgusted at your 2004 fashion blunder.
For today, I sat and brainstormed about topics to write about. I thought about writing about senior year; but I can only make bullying freshmen a funny topic for about two paragraphs. After quitting that topic, I ate some macaroni and cheese and sat back down to make a bubble cluster or whatever Ms. Lawson tried to teach us between the Holocaust and well…..more of the Holocaust. Nothing seemed to work. I could not find a funny topic that would cause mass urination. Just when I was about to give up for the day and let down my readers (for the third day in a row), I remembered my little old grandma and the many stories that I have about her. I realize that I already have one blog post about her, but that woman could have a blog dedicated to herself. Today, I am going to talk about my grandma’s spending habits.
My grandma is definitely smart about her money. My grandpa, however, is ridiculous about money. I completely understand, that because of retirement, my grandparents have to be smart about what they purchase and how they manage their money. But, there comes a point when all my grandmother wants is a vanilla DIET coke from Dairy Queen…and that shit won’t fly with my penny-pinching grandpa. The following story is probably exaggerated and because I don’t get the joy of living with my crazy grandparents, I don’t really know what goes down…but I will try to tell they story of my grandmother’s vanilla DIET coke struggle to the best of my abilities and with as much realism as possible.
In the middle of the night, my grandma, standing at a small height of four feet, crawls (on her hands and knees) to the kitchen. As she crawls, she makes sure that none of the kitchen tiles squeak, her plan would be ruined if my grandfather woke from his slumber. Sweat drips down the side of my grandma’s face, as she hopes that my grandpa’s bladder lasts him the rest of the night. On any given night my grandfather can wake up to pee anywhere from eight to forty-seven times. My grandma’s sweating palms wipe away the bead of perspiration and pray to her Catholic God that he only awakens sixteen times tonight. She finally makes it to my grandpa’s television room. This is where the safe is located; she is half-way to her ultimate goal. Because my grandma has watched every single episode of CSI, she knows what to do. She slips on her white latex gloves, which are extra thick (so she doesn’t leave prints), and she dials the combination to the safe. My grandfather has reluctantly given her the combination, not because he wants to, but because at the ripe age of sixty-eight, he would have a tough time finding any takers. Luckily my grandma has remembered the combination. He only said it once (in hopes she would forget it). My grandma reaches into the safe and pulls out the one dollar that it takes to buy a DIET vanilla coke. She slowly closes the safe to ensure that her theft won’t be heard. Luckily, my grandma attends Dairy Queen’s happy hour. This is a time, from two to four, that allows elderly individuals to buy their DIET vanilla coke at a discounted price of one dollar. If it had been any more than one dollar, my grandma would have been busted. As the sun starts to rise, my grandma shuffles along the floor and back to the safety of her bedroom. Tonight’s mission was a success. She whispers one more prayer to her Catholic God and asks only that when my grandfather wakes in the morning and counts the money, that he doesn’t notice the one tiny dollar she slipped into her pajama pocket. Even if he does, the DIET vanilla coke she buys at 2′ o’clock sharp will be worth it. After all, she is stealing her own money.
This is a picture of my tiny granny peanut showing off her great sense of humor while standing next to a van with the male reproductive system (wieners) drawn all over it. By looking at that sweet lil’ face you would never suspect she was a tiny thief.