Grammy and the fried chicken hors devours - NaBloPoMo Day 8

Today I visited Grammy at her assisted living domicile. When I got there, she was in the dining room munching on a piece of fried chicken. Okaayyy-- I'd told her earlier on the phone I was coming to take her out to eat, and from the looks of it, she'd really dug into that chicken.

Grammy and Grampy 10 years ago.
Vaguely, while she introduced me to her friend Pearl (again) I wondered if she remembered I was coming and/or if she remembered the part of the conversation where I told her I'd take her out. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd forgot some key information.

Maybe last month, after about the ninth time she'd asked me if this was the first time I'd seen her new apartment at the assisted living place, I told her she should keep a notebook and write shit down. She became furious with me for suggesting she write things down WHEN SHE ONLY HAS ONE GOOD EYE.

At least she hasn't lost her ability to give you the what for.

Grammy told me they made her eat the chicken because she has diabetes. She was sitting up in her room waiting for me, and then WHAM, there were people who came in and told her that she must come down and she must eat dinner.

I asked her if the fried chicken was an hors-devours before an entree at the Superior Diner. She said yes. She got up, grabbed her walker, introduced me to everyone as her niece and we left the building.

In the car, Grammy asked me if I knew how to get to the Superior Diner. Or the SUPERIAH DINAH as she says. Ever since she started hanging out with Pearl, who's originally from Brooklyn, Grammy's Bronx accent has returned like a freight train. It's straight out of a Seinfeld episode and very loud. It'll take you by surprise.






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