Grandmas House.

A few months ago me, one of my sisters and both of my brothers went to visit our dear old Grandma. (well she's not actually my younger brothers grandma, but she still treats him like he is... what a sweet little lady) I hadn't seen my Grandma since her 85th birthday about 4 years ago where the whole family got together and had a sort of family reunion/birthday party thing at greenwater lake. She broke her hip soon after the reunion and apparently didn't want to have many visitors while she was in pain. I thought I'd never see her again. But the old hag slowly became comphortable with her situation and once again looked forword to seeing her children/grandchildren.

She looked as I always remembered her... old.

The old bat still had some spunk in her that made her never give up on being independant. She cooked us a huge supper, which as always was made at lunch time, and of course had lots of creamed corn because she knew I used to love the stuff as a kid. When she asked us for help putting out her patio set for the summer, I could tell that she didn't want to ask anyone for help, but since her hip surgery she wasn't able to carry up the table on her own. She only knew she couldn't do it on her own because the crazy prune had already tried carrying it up the stairs from the basement on her own and had dropped it halfway leaving a large crack through the middle, she made us promise that we wouldn't tell her kids that she had tried going into the basement on her own.


After the meal of creamed corn, ham, mashed potatoes (with no gravy... lame) buns and rice, we had some icecream with raspberries (raspberries>strawberries) The icecream must have upset my stomach because I was hit hard. I held it in for as long as possible, but I could hold it no more, so I rushed to ol'grannies bathroom, dropped trou, and unleashed something fierce.

The experience itself was not one for the books, it was, of course, rather loose and wet, which was why there was such urgency, but for a lush like myself that's not anything out of the ordinary. It was the smell and volume that was something to be revelled. As soon as the feces cascaded from my brown eye the putrid scent of my last two meals mixed together with a healthy dose of ass, came rushing into my nostrils and I knew that this was no ordinary visit to the gentlemans room. I made sure to do an immediate courtesy flush hoping that I could flush away most of the lingering odour and be worry free, but it didn't help. A second courtesy flush after another flow of shit of niagra proportions also didn't help, and at this point I was searching around to find some air freshner, matches, or at least some old people perfume, anything that could mask the horrible sin that I just commited in a 89 year old womans house. There was nothing. I wanted to open the window, but I didn't want my dear old granny to try and reach over the bathtub to close it if it got chilly, if the smell didn't kill her now, a bathtub slip surely would later.

After I had finished up and left the bathroom all I could hope for is that if I kept the door closed the smell would not disperse through the house, I was so worried about it that I couldn't even enjoy how great I was feeling after taking a duece of that magnitude, which in any other circumstance I would have been quite proud of, perhaps even taken a picture of with my cell phone. When I stepped out and saw my siblings looking at me I knew that having the door shut would do nothing. They were all very aware of what I had just done and the laughs that they were trying to hold back only faintly disgused the look of sheer disgust on thier faces.

Hanging out with old people is wierd. They will constantly talk about thier friends that have died and it doesn't bother them at all. When your young and a friend meets thier untimely demise it's shocking, scary, sad and it really makes you think about your own mortality. When your old you know your gunna die soon, so when your friends die you know that you could be next... and that's okay. I can't wait till I'm old enough to die and not care, cause once I'm that old I'll finally think to myself... lifes not bad, and I don't think theres a single young person out there who is that happy with thier life. My grandma even said to us "today was a good day, I'll write it down in my calender and read it next week and know that today was a good day... I've had a good life, if I were to no longer be here tommorow, I will die happy knowing that I've led a happy and good life." This coming from a woman who most definitly is not a god fearing woman, who as far as I know is an atheist and when she dies she believes she will rot in the ground... theres something very settling about her attitude.

I think my grandma has lost her sense of smell, because she walked right beside that bathroom several times, and although she would have been too sweet to call out who had just destroyed her home of 70 years in a single lavatorious blow, noone would have been able to have smelled that without losing thier train of thought or stuttered their speech, and seeing as she was a granny, she was prone to walk around alyways talking, whether she was in the same room as you or not, she never skipped a beat. As the decrepit sack of bones showed us around her house with all the new things her kids had done for her to make it easier to live, the smell followed us. She showed us how her washer, dryer and deep freeze were now in the spare bedroom upstairs (the room right next to the bathroom) and the whole time all us grandkids could do is try not to laugh as our grandma never showed any sign of the all too present stink. This went on for several hours until it was time for her grandchildren to leave.

As soon as we got back into my sisters car (which used to be my dad's car... and should have been my car dammit!) we all burst out laughing.

I imagine my dear old grandma must have found refuge in her basement, or ran to find the closest can of lysol or a scented candle or some disgusting old people femeldahide perfume or something, or else she finally keeled over and died.

My grandma did not die. The next time my dad saw her she talked about the good day she had with her grandchildren and she talked about how good we all looked. She loved my long hair and said to my dad, who hates it and my tattoos (I covered up my tattoos just incase my grandma would freak out) "I think it's great that Jason looks different, he's a rocker, and you've gotta have long hair and look different to be a rocker." I love my grandma.

R.I.P. Grandma... well, you know... not yet... but soon.

Jay.