Killing 2 Birdz

I'm finally going to go visit my grandparents this weekend. After I realized that they were going to hire movers to help them move last month, I suddenly felt no urgency to go visit. But of course my grandmother never forgot my promise to pay a visit and she has been hounding me about it ever since. In an ironic twist of fate, I have gotten out of it every weekend by proclaiming that I just can't make it this particular weekend because I'm swamped with work. Now, I've made a commitment for this weekend and I'm really swamped with work. But I guess that's what happens when you lie to your grandmother.

They moved to a gated community that is also home to a large, well-known resort. So I decided I would compromise with this visit and stay at the resort down the street. My grandmother is having a fit about it. This is a woman that reuses Ziploc bags...for years, so she thinks spending money on a hotel room is ludicrous when she has a perfectly good guest room. And I'm sure she's right, but since when have I ever spent money wisely? Exactly.

So Saturday I have plans to spend the day at the spa on the resort and get a massage and a mani/pedi and a soak in a mud bath. So while I soak in hot mud, I'll be trying to forget that just two miles away my 75-year-old grandmother is waiting to tell me that I should wake up at 4 in the morning to make Big Daddy biscuits from scratch, and if I don't, he'll leave me for someone who will.

Speaking of Big Daddy, I really shouldn't take his sorry ass, but I need a driver. He always misbehaves at my grandparents' house. He is like a mischievous child. My grandmother worships the ground he walks on and just fawns all over him every minute he's around. I pretty much spend the whole time rolling my eyes and trying not to vomit on myself.

Once my grandmother and I got into a heated debate as to whether or not Big Daddy is the perfect man. I'll give you one guess which side I was debating for. So as she's just gushing about how Big Daddy is the perfect man, I catch myself saying stuff like, Um, no, he really isn't all that, Grandma. But she continues insisting. And I'm getting more adamant that he's really not that special. She still wouldn't back down when I threw what I thought would be the argument ender at her. Grandma, really, he's not that great. He cums in like two seconds.

So yeah, Big Daddy uses this new found fame to his advantage, which usually results in the silent treatment for the next two weeks after we return, so you'd think he'd learn his lesson. If he were to ever ask me to make him a sandwich on a normal Saturday afternoon I would more than likely say, "Go fuck yourself. Your legs aren't broken, make your own damn sandwich. And while you are at it, make me one, too." Which is probably why he would never ask me to make him a sandwich on a normal Saturday afternoon.

But at my grandparents' house he gets something akin to beer muscles, or what I like to call granny balls. He'll always wait until my sweet little grandmother is in the room with us and then he'll make one of his zany requests like, "Hey babe, will you make me a sandwich?" And I'll just sit there glaring at him with the death stare as he just smirks at me. And after a few seconds of steam coming out of my ears and clinching my fists, I'll say, "Sure, hun," through clenched teeth and go make him a motherfucking sandwich. Because, trust me, that's way easier than fucking hearing about it for the rest of my life from my grandmother (who I'm quite sure will outlive me).

Then later I like to back him into a dark corner when we are alone and twist his testicles like I'm changing a light bulb.