Everyone’s grandmother is a little strange. My grandmother plays Wolfenstine and stores everything in plastic grocery bags. She keeps bags of old shoes in the cellar and hangs lawn chairs from the deck. She locks the shed by putting a table spoon through the latch and can always tell you the exact amount of rain that fell the day before.
And, like all grandmothers, she knows that because she is a grandmother, she can get away with things that most people can’t, like sampling the candy out of the candy bins in grocery stores, parking between parking spaces, holding up lines, and making rude comments in church. A grandmother in
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