|The Granny Stool|
I got myself into the car and we started off...or I thought we were starting off when I found the truck returning to my daughter's house. She had forgotten her Fitbit watch. It really is always something! And it was around 7 in the morning.
We drove into their driveway, my daughter rushed into the house and my son-in-law disappeared around the side of the house.
Where is he going? I asked my husband. The words had not let my mouth before he returned to the car carrying a stool...a blue plastic Granny Stool. Oh my gosh just shoot me now!
NONONO NO! I moaned. Please tell me they haven't gotten a Granny Stool. I don't WANT a granny stool so I can get in the car. No!
I covered my face and began rocking back and forth as though a great tragedy had beset my life.
Darn, darn, darn. I hate begin wounded. I do like being a "granny" but not if that means I need a stool. Darn.
But, as it turns out, I am not proud. I used the stool with as much grace and dignity as I could muster. I am just hoping that this is not a trend. Oh dear God, please don't let this be a trend!