*sigh*...Dear Fred...
What a day. What a day. Boy am I glad Grandmama Mole is gone...finally I can have some peace and quiet and not be yelled at for every thing I do. It's...really annoyin'. Lemme tell ya about this chick.
Well, she's no "chick" I guess, but she's not necessarily the most respected member in our family. I'm certain most people don't care too much for her, even though they put on their nice face for the lady. Everyone thinks I'M bad. At least I ain't callin' kids everywhere fat and unmannerly...ok, maybe I do sometimes. But only when they deserve it! Do I deserve any of what she tells me? No! No I don't!
First off, I get this feelin' Don's her favorite. She never burns HIS dinner when she comes to cook...but she cooks mine juuuust past how I like my foods. At first, I pretended not to notice...but after I told her exactly how I like them all polite-like, she told me somethin' like...
"You don't know what ya like, Sonny! Let Gramma Mole do the cookin'! You could stand some change anyway, how do you clip your diggin' claws?! I bet ya can't even see the ground ya walk on! Why can't you be more like your brother and slim up a bit?"
I countered with a polite and quiet rebuttal that she was no skinny mole herself, and she responded by making me sit in the corner for twenty minutes and think about what I said. I'm over forty years old and she can still make me do that somehow. I dunno where the authority comes from. Maybe I oughta sic her on Derek...one of us will benefit in the long run. Ha ha ha ha!
But that ain't all she's done. She reads us bedtime stories before she leaves. Somehow, in her fragile, senile mind, she is convinced that, despite our grayin' hairs and medical problems (well, MY medical problems, Don has OTHER problems), she gets this idea that we haven't really grown up and that we need a parental figure. The story this time was Seagull Seaman, some story about a pirate that eventually met an alien and started flyin' around in a UFO. Then some punk-o kid shot down the UFO with his slingshot, and they worked together to find his ship parts with the super power of teamwork, yaaaaaaay...
Don was sittin' on her lap the whole time. He ALWAYS got to sit on Grandmama Mole's lap, but no, not I. Not this mole. I sat on the floor, subservient to the will of the mighty Grandmama Mole. I asked politely how come I never got to sit on her lap. She took one look at me and griped...
"I only got two good legs, Sonny, I can't afford to break one now."
Another weight comment. I told her I NOTICE what I've got. Then she says to me...
"Well, why ain't ya done somethin' about it then? It's for the good of everyone! You'll smother to death one of these days from not bein' able to take a peek over that mountain of yours called a gut! You look like you're with child!"
I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the night. Ya can't fight Grandmama Mole. She fights back. With a dishtowel. Yeah. We've had a history.
But yeah, it's been a long day and I need my sleep. But just one last thing...
Don't let Grandmama Mole I wrote in ya-NO! WAIT! Don't tell her you EXIST. You're an English-Spanish dictionary around her...OK, señor Fred?
Now...
SCRAM!