Crazy Grandma,
Where do you go when we make plans for lunch and you aren't there? To the noon o'clock Episcopalian service? To drink tea at Mrs. George's? Out for your daily twinkies? Or are you hiding in the bedroom, waiting for me to leave? Watching as I sit for half an hour on the porch and glare at the Adelphia guy and kick my feet against the plastic chair and periodically spaz out at the bees.
All I know is that, after ringing the bell twice and banging on your windows, I can only mutter my silent thanks and leave.
That bag on the screen door, by the way, contains the oatnut bread you so politely requested over the phone. Enjoy.
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