Yes, you read that title right, granny is a whore. I'm sure you're thinking, how could this be true about sweet little Memaw?!
To be fair, I’m sure your Nana is a lovely lady and is probably a saint that is as pure as they come, and only had sex for procreation. But let me explain…
Scene opens to a bright and shiny Chicago day teeming with possibilities—blue skies, cotton candy clouds, all that shit. The “happy” couple rolls into view as they crawl their way downtown in a VERY compact car. Around them there are driver seat divas and karaoke couples making the most of their extended jam sessions.
It’s a sharp contrast to the mood in our car. There was no bringing "SexyBack" blasting out our speakers. Oh no! Instead, we were on a seemingly infinite repeat of bringing sex back up for discussion—very popular among couples, but much less catchy beat.
So, there we sat like cell mates debating who was going to be the bitch in our tin can of a car. He goes in for the cold open, “I think we should be having more sex.”
I go with the passive aggressive acknowledgement, “I’m sure you do.”
He comes back with, “OH, YOU don’t think that we do?” a few octaves higher than his normal voice to make sure he audibly cues me in that my response was not deemed appropriate.
Being the keen observer that I am, I decide to match his octave lift and raise him a hand gesture. “No, I think we have a good amount of sex.” I say with a palm spread to help shoot my words like venom the two inches to his ear -- again, very compact car.
The octaves continue to climb and the hand gestures become increasingly obscene until we are like two inaudible, deranged geese puffing our chests to defend our positions. Mothers shielded the virgin ears of their young as obscenity after obscenity flew to expand their vocabulary.
As the cars sat bumper to bumper, our car was in complete gridlock. He decided to make a bold move, bring in Grandma, “My dead Grandmother has more sex than we do!!”
I could have retreated. I could’ve left the sanctity of Grammy untouched. But when you are willing to involve the sexual escapades of the woman who gave life to the woman who gave you life, the kid gloves are off!
I looked him dead in the eyes and calmly stated, “Well, she sounds like a whore.”
BOOM. MIC. DROP. He stares at me speechless and in pure astonishment that I would say such things about his dear, deceased Mimi. I finish with, “You brought her into this.”
The next few miles were surprisingly quiet.
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