I’m at Ihop with Grandma H and she says, “You should go to a drive by.”
I ask, “You mean a drive through?”
“What’s the difference?”
“One I get shot at, the other I order my food to go.”
She giggles. “The other one then.”
We are sitting in Ihop and I start to take off my long sleeve shirt because it’s warm and I’m wearing a tank top underneath.
Grandma H exclaims, “Are you going to strip?”
“Just to my tank top today.”
When we are seated at Ihop, an older couple is seated behind Grandma H. We all get our menus at about the same time. Grandma H and my food arrives. We are half-way done eating, when the waitress appears at the table behind us and they start asking lots of questions about the menu.
Grandma H asks, “They didn’t order yet?”
She whispers, “Are they old?” (Note: Grandma H is in her early 80s.)
“Yeah, they gotta be pushing 90.”
“They don’t have time for this,” she says.
“They’ll be here all night,” she says.
I mention, “It always surprises me how much slower people get when they are toward the end of their lives. You think with that limited time, they’d do things faster.”
She cackles, “I know.”
A while later, the waitresses come to sing “Happy Birthday” to the little girls at the other end of our row of booths.
Grandma H says, “I hope that’s not for the old couple, they’ll be dead by the time the singers get down here.”
We are walking through the mall and a man is covered from scalp to toe in soot or grease walks toward us. Grandma H uses her outdoor voice and demands, “Where did he come from?”
I remind her, “That was really loud. Try to use your indoor voice or keep those kind of thoughts in your head.”
“Alright, but WHERE DID HE COME FROM? You saw him. Covered in dirt. Walking around. He must have escaped from prison.”
“Or he was working underground or as a mechanic.”
“He was filthy.”
“Maybe he needed to run an errand on his lunch break.”
“He shouldn’t come out in public like that.”