Real Story about my grandmother

Real Story about my grandmother (my dad’s mom)

She had a routine dr visit scheduled last Thursday morning – about 6:20am she called me to come help her up as she’d fallen down and couldn’t wake Dad. (She’s O.K.!) Anyway, I went over and got her up, and checked her out before getting her to bed – she had a red spot on one cheek where she’d hit something on the way down, and I commented that I thought she’d probably have a bruise. A few hours later we’re sitting in the doctor’s waiting room – under the flourescents, I could see that a blue patch was starting to form on her cheek – I looked closely at it and told her, “Yeah, you’re gonna have a big bruise there.” She replies, not in an overly loud voice but plenty loud enough for the receptionist and all the folks sitting nearby to hear: “At least when your Father hits me, he hits me where the bruises won’t show.”

I keep telling her that making jokes like that in a doctors office is like making bomb jokes in an airport.

Oh, well.

Between my dad’s family and my mom, I never stood a chance.