Embarrass Me[me] - Take THREE

So… in continuing with the humility… I give you:


3. Too much of Gramma is not a good thing


When I was younger, my Dad's family had a cabin on one of the abundant lakes in our area (hello, Minnesota!) and we'd frequent it often (aka whenever my Mom finally got sick of our never ending barrage of, "Mooooooooom, Mom, Mom, Mom…. Can we go to the cabin? Huh, huhhuhuhuh? Can we? Can we? Canweeeee?").

Around the ripe old age of nine, I was opted to spend a week there with my Great-Gramma in lieu of incessant trips "up north" (by all of 20 minutes, psh.).

You see, I am the "original" grandchild… (First born on both sides)

Looking back, I think this really meant guinea pig. 

Now, my Great-Gramma and I were never really all that close. She was a crotchety old bitty and I didn't know how well I would survive a week alone with her. She was, after all, the soul-sucking lady who wouldn't let me play with the shiny legos I'd acquired in my five-year-old Christmas Eve plunder four years earlier (not that I held a grudge, mind you…).

Was this worth it? I'm still not sure.

Anyhoo… as I stated, I was nine.
Matured a bit since that…um... tear filled night.

*sigh*

But a week at the cabin----> away from my two brothers<---- sounded like heaven. Even if I had to endure the crotchety old gal.

Besides, this was my view----------------------->

How bad could it be, right?

Surprisingly, the week flew by. I helped her clean up the yard, weed her gardens, swam from sun up to sun down and even got to pick strawberries at the U-Pick-Berry Farm down the road.

No problems.

It was blissfully uneventful.

In fact, I was surprised how much I enjoyed being there. Then, the last night before heading back home, things took a turn. We'd eaten supper and Gramma had turned in for the night. (She had this weird habit of going to bed at 7:30pm and getting up at 5am… Who does that?)

But I was packing… There were books and things… clothes needed to be folded and put in my suitcase. For the life of me, I could not find my swimsuit. I'd looked outside. I searched the outdoor shower thingy… Missing.

Where the heck did it go?

Since it was only 7:39pm, I decided to ask Gramma. She'd know. She knew everything. And no way was she asleep yet.

So, I walked down the hallway and knocked just outside her door.

There was a scuffle behind the curtain (Yes, curtain… Where was I, the Wizard of Oz?) and out emerged Gramma. Her hair was rolled up tight in curlers on the top of her head and she had a wild, crazy look in her eyes.

All of that would have been fine.

But that's not where my eyes went.

Instead, from the waist up, my old bitty Gramma was completely buckass nekkid and because of the step up to her room, I was right at… um… their level.

My eyes!

Great-Gramma BOOBIES!

As soon as my brain registered the horror, I diverted my eyes to the wall, trying to blink away the last five seconds of my life. (It didn't help.)

"Whatcha need?" Gramma muttered, not even making an attempt to move. (Didn't she know her boobs were touching her--- bloomers? HELLO!)

"I… er… uh… " What the heck was it again? Dang, I'd lost all train of thought-- what with my eyes on fire, and all.

"Spit it out, I ain't got all night." She put a hand on her hip (at least, I think that's what it was…) and I decided to abandon ship.

"I…er… nevermind." I spun around and bolted back to the guest bedroom, latching the door behind me.

You know, come to think of it, I never did find my swimsuit.

Instead, I carried home a memory that, to this day, is still burned behind my eyelids.

It's honestly not right.

Please, for the love, give me horny gramma! Wait… what?

I'd much rather have been privy to THIS---------->


Moral of the story: Things you never meant to witness will haunt you forever. Poke your eyes out now and save yourself.

• Up next Friday...

4. Tequila fan