(I’ve just had all four wisdom teeth pulled. My grandma is driving me home, and since I don’t remember, tells me my antics the next day.)

Grandma: “What’s wrong? You look sad!”

Me: “I want my face back!”

Grandma: “What?”

Me: “The dentist took my face!”

Grandma: “What do you mean?!”

(I’m nearly in tears at this point.)

Me: “They said they’d only take my teeth! But my face is gone!”

Grandma: “How do you know your face is gone?”

Me: “I can’t feel it anymore! They took my face!”

(My grandma has to pull over due to laughing so hard. She pulls down the mirror to prove I do, in fact, still have my face. I start crying out of sheer joy.)

Me: “MY FACE! IT’S SAFE!”

Grandma: *to the groom* “Doesn’t she look stunning in her dress?”

Groom: “Yes, I’m a very lucky man!”

Grandma: “Get a good look; she won’t be this pretty ever again!”

Bride & Groom: “…” 

Me: *ushers grandma out of their earshot before she can say anything else*

(A few years ago, my grandfather started having trouble walking. One day, he comes back from the store and, upon opening the door, immediately starts this conversation.)

Grandfather: “I have a cocaine!”

Me: “What?”

(I turned around and saw my grandfather gesturing to the new cane he bought, with a Coca-Cola design on it. He never let me live it down until the day he died.)

(Back in the seventies, my mom babysat a lot. One of her favorite stories was when she was babysitting a boy around eight years old. He had apparently gotten into his dad’s stash of — ahem — adult literature. When my mom found him with a certain bunny-themed racy magazine she took it away, much to the boy’s dismay. His best argument?)

Boy: “Hey! Give that back! My grandmother gave me that!”

Late at night, my grandfather calls me to say my grandmother is having an “episode” and needs me. I hurry over, take one look at her, and call an ambulance; we escort her to the hospital.

My grandmother has become increasingly anxious about getting older and sicker and is visibly shaking and getting upset at the sudden onset of people around her taking blood, canulating, running ECGs, etc. The primary nurse has been professional, but far from warm or personable. My grandmother and I are nurses ourselves — well, Grandma was, years ago — so we totally understand that that happens sometimes.

My grandmother is given a cup of disgusting potassium liquid to drink, which she does quickly, but, in an effort to try and cheer herself up, she says, “Ugh! Wah wah wah! I want a lolly after that!”

The primary nurse disappears out of the room for a minute and returns… holding a rainbow lollipop, which she unwraps and presents to Grandma. She says, still in her serious voice, “That’s for being a brave girl,” and then heads out of the room again.

Grandma was so chuffed she talked about that little gesture for her remaining years.