Don’t Know Which Story To Put Your Finger On

, , , , | Related | July 29, 2017

(My grandfather was missing a finger. As a child I had asked Dad if he knew how it happened.)

Dad: “Well, you know how Pop was in the war?”

Me: “Yes.”

Dad: “Well, someone told him it was raining one day so he put his finger outside their hideout and it got shot off.”

(He tells my sister a completely different story about Pop putting his finger in his mouth and someone hitting him in the back of the head so he bit it off. He tells her that he swallowed it. Later, as an adult, I ask Mum about it, telling her of the stories Dad had told. Seeing as it’s her father she should know the truth.)

Mum: “You should know not to believe anything your dad says. The real story is much more unusual and a bit funny. Well, one day he was working in his parents’ clothing factory. He was cutting out a thick layers of fabric with an electrical cutter that had spinning blade on it. The cutter got stuck so he pushed on it too hard and it took his finger off.”

Me: “What so funny about that?”

Mum: “He knew that he had to get the pattern cut out so he wrapped up the stump, put the finger into a box and finished the job, then worked for the rest of the day. When he got home from work that day, his mother was cooking dinner and he told her that he had cut his finger off. She didn’t believe him until he got the finger out of the box.”

(I’m still not sure which of the stories are true.)

You’ve Been Out-Street-Smarted

, , , , | Related | July 28, 2017

(My grandma never likes to waste food. Back when my mom was a kid, Grandma would always give the classic “There are children starving in Africa!” argument. Then they move to the Philippines.)

Grandma: “Finish your food. There are children starving right down the street!”

Uncle: *bolts out of his seat, picks up his plate, and heads for the door*

Grandma: “Where are you going?”

Uncle: “I’m going to go give it to them!”

(She stopped using that argument after that.)

This Is A Non-Service Announcement

, , , , | Related | July 28, 2017

(It’s about nine in the morning on a Sunday. I’m still in bed since I tend to work later hours and get to sleep around two am. The phone rings and I sleepily answer.)

Me: “Hello?”

Dad: “Hey, we’re just calling to let you know. Grammie passed some time early this morning.”

Me: *not even awake enough to process what I’ve just heard* “Okay…”

Mom: “She wanted to donate her body to science, so we’re on the way to go pick up paperwork related to that.”

Me: “Oh… okay…”

(The phone call ends, I finally process what I’d just heard and cry for a while. Later I get a text from my mom.)

Text: “Grammie didn’t want a service. We’re going to be getting together later this year.”

(I guess my family is just way more matter of fact about death than I thought?)

Grandma Deserves Pants

, , , , , | Related | July 27, 2017

(My nephew has a favorite robe that he still wears even though it is several sizes too small. One day he is home alone, and my mom stops by to check on him. He answers the door wearing nothing but his favorite robe.)

Nephew: “Oh, hi! Next time, Grandmom, call me and I’ll put on pants!”

A High-Brow Meal

, , , , | Related | July 26, 2017

My grandparents just bought a new propane barbeque grill, and Grandma decides to try it out before Granddad gets home. This is before electric starters were used, and you had to light a match and put it in a small hole in the side of the grill to ignite the flame.

She is having trouble lighting it, and after several matches, decides she’ll try a different route. She of course isn’t thinking about the fact that the gas was on the entire time, and building up in the closed grill. So, the predictable thing happens: she lights another match, and opens the grill cover to light it, and KABOOM!

A pretty big fireball goes off, and thank goodness she is OK… most of her, anyway. Her eyebrows and eyelashes are gone, and the hair at the front of her scalp is singed back pretty well, too. She is super embarrassed, but continues to make dinner like a trooper. She insists that NO ONE tell Grandpa what happened, because she doesn’t want him to get upset.

The fact she now looks like a Martian seems like a dead giveaway, but we say OK.

So Granddad gets home, and we are all sitting around the table eating, and trying our hardest to not even look at Grandma without any eyebrows and pretending everything is just perfectly normal. We’re also trying pretty hard to suppress the giggles. At one point, Granddad looks up from his food, over at Grandma, and kinda squints a double take. We figure the game is up for sure… but all he says is, “[Grandma], did you do something different with your hair?” And she answers, “Well… kind of.”

We burst out laughing.

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