The Ancient One called . . .
AO: I think I’m pregnant.
Me: I’ll alert the media and Guiness Book of World Records.
AO: I went and burned these little pizza thingys in the microwave. They look like charcoal.
Me: Jesus! How long did you cook them for?
AO: I don’t remember.
Me: You could burn the house down.
AO: I have NEVER burned the house down.
Me: It only takes one time.
AO: I’m still hungry.
Me: Go get something else out of the freezer and I’ll talk you through it.
AO: How do you know I have anything to eat in there?
Me: Because I do your shopping.
(She gets a pot roast dinner out while I pull the manual to her microwave up on my iPad. I have the manuals to all her appliances in Evernote for just such occasions)
Me: And why do you think you are pregnant?
AO: My mother said when you started burning your cooking you must be pregnant.
Oh, Grandma, if you only knew . . .