I told you the story about one of my grandmothers so it would be unfair if I didn’t tell you a story about the second one. Years ago I decided to introduce my boyfriend to my grandma. I called her to inform her about the visit and then the day arrived. We went to her apartment, knocked on the door, my grandma opened it and then it happened. She noticed a tattoo on my boyfriend’s arm. I don’t know why, maybe she was scared and thought that he was some kind of a criminal, but she didn’t say a word to him. (Thanks grandma for thinking that I’m attracted to criminals)
That happened years ago and she still doesn’t talk to him. Christmas came and grandma was invited to Christmas Eve. I wanted to do something about that situation so I prepared her favourite cake.
The evening arrived and so did my grandma. Everyone was there, including my boyfriend, we ate all of the food (she didn’t say a word to him) and started to bring cakes to the table. My grandma noticed her favourite one and wanted to eat it immediately. I gave her a piece of it and waited.
- Oh dear, this cake is just excellent!
- Thank you grandma! My boyfriend made it.
Silence.
More silence.
- It’s too sweet.
The plan didn’t work, my grandma still hates my boyfriend and my cake was too sweet.
And now the other grandmother bought us the wedding gift. So basically, when we talk about my grandmothers it is just either too much or not enough. Yes, my family is weird.
Paulina 