Rolling in it... again!

A couple months ago, I shared the precious gift of money that my grandmother gave me. I still haven't hauled that booty to the bank, by the way. I'm waiting for just the right time -- when I'm reeeally hurtin'. I stopped in last weekend for another visit and as usual, there's not a dull moment.

She just had to tell me how annoying her evening was, since one of the women that "doesn't have any marbles left" fell and badly hit her face. It was annoying, of course, due to the fact that all the hubbub that surrounded the incident caused my grandma's dinner to be late................ .......!!

Then I asked her if she new anything about the funky house that is being built across the street from her residence. (It is seriously cool. Not sure if it fits with the surrounding properties, but cool nevertheless.) She just waved her hands away and groaned, "Pssfft, probably a couple of queers moving in."

As we were eating, the chef came out to greet the residents and their guests; he's East Indian. As he walked away, my grandmother yelled, "My god, he is black, black, black... in't he?"

She was on a roll, people.

Speaking of rolls, after lunch she winked and handed me another present before I left. It looked like this:

Within our family, she is quite famous for these packages. Usually, they contain already opened boxes of crackers that she decided she didn't like, or buckets of yogurt that will be expiring within the next 24 hours, or even bananas.

Oh, sweet Jesus... the fucking bananas.

Let's just say she doesn't pack them inside those phallic yet effective travel containers. A few years ago, I put my foot down with the banana donations. Even with this package -- the fact that she put that note on it is a good indicator that it contains something that I'd likely not want to take home with me, but I have to be honest, I was totally expecting bananas.

So, like the obedient grand daughter that I am, I waited until I got home to open her mystery package...

Toilet paper.

And not just any toilet paper - stolen toilet paper from her residence.

I called her to question her motives, "Grandma... really? What's with the toilet paper?"

She giggled, "Well, you can't tell me you doing need that. Everyone poops, darling."

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Update. Just got off the phone with her today (Tuesday) and she hopes that every time I wipe my butt, I think of her....
Not. Fucking. Kidding.
Oh, this woman ;)
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