The Grass Is Greener On Grandma's Side By Max, Guest Writer |Email|
It’s funny how life can be so different, even when you’re less than fifteen miles from home. For as long as I can remember, when home becomes too much, my grandma’s house has been a place to get away. Time moves slower here. Perhaps this is attributed to an open internet connection I’m using which causes websites to load at dial-up speeds. Take note, my grandma is 80 years old, she doesn’t even know anything about the internet or, what she calls the, “internet machine.”
This leaves me stuck using the wireless network of some crazy neighbor who is probably stealing my credit card number as I speak. Or perhaps time moves slower because the days are more casual, less planned, or less structured.
My internet connection is less reliable than Detroit public transportation leaving me ample time to explore other endeavors. Endeavors that include writing, watching the news, or trying to get in shape for my trip to Florida.
Let’s be real here, my personality won’t get me anywhere when my man boobs are flopping around like a wet noodle. If I had a rocket ship tattoo on my chest it would have taken such a hit by my man boobs that it would now resemble an African American’s penis or a white man who got a penal implant.
And though my own selfish reasons bring me to my grandmother’s, she is quick to put me in place and then make me dinner and then dessert and then a snack before bedtime. Heck, she even does my laundry. Oddly enough, though, all the problems I have created before coming to my grandma’s vanish to the point I forget the real reason I even left home. But it’s all worthwhile because spending time with my grandma is irreplaceable. It’s like going to church, except in this case, it’s not time wasted.
- Max -
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You can check out more articles By Max
on his blogThe World Takes
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