The set-up: My parents, My Guy, and I are sitting around the kitchen table. My mom has just returned from visiting her aunt and uncle.
Mom: So, I learned some new things about Grandma today.
The Rest of Us: Oh, yeah?
Mom: Yeah. Like, she kept a gun in a handbag on the top shelf of her hall closet. Even when she was living at Crescent Ridge. You know, just in case.
Mom: Yeah. I guess during the 30s, when they lived on the farm, there were hobos and such, and, well, some of them weren’t very nice. Grandpa had a .45. So he bought her a .32.
Dad: A ladies’ pistol.
My Guy: How feminine.
Mom: Yeah. And I also learned that Grandma had a boyfriend – that’s how she broke her rib.
The Rest of Us: Huh?
Mom: Yeah. When she was living with us, she broke a rib. The only reason we knew about it was because she got out of a chair wrong and about passed out from the pain.
My Guy: I’ve heard that broken ribs are super painful.
Mom: Well, she went to the doctor and got it all taped up and such. But it turns out that it was from her boyfriend! He squeezed her too hard and broke her rib.
The Rest of Us: *silence*
Mom: Grandma was living with us – I was in grade school or junior high – but we didn’t know she had a boyfriend! And he just squeezed her too tight and broke her rib.
Me: How big was Grandma?
Mom: Oh, maybe 98 pounds.
Dad: And how tall?
Mom: Probably about 5’2″.
*raised eyebrows, dirty minds, and conspiratorial, knowing glances between The Rest of Us*
Dad: You can’t break a rib by squeezing someone.
My Guy: Yeah.
Dad: It would take a little more than a hug …
Mom: SHE WAS MY GRANDMA!
And … scene.
Sometimes? This blog just writes itself.