Dear Grandmother,
I’m writing to issue an overdue apology. As you are aware, I don’t express flowery sentiment for the benefit of lip service or under the pretense of earning a loftier position in your twisted inheritance pyramid scheme. The battery operated card shuffler you promised me after your passing will be a sufficient token.
Before you become over-excited by my humble declaration of improper behavior, I should clarify, that I am not apologizing for the time I laughed when my cousin-partner-in-crime called you a pretentious old fart to your face. He was correct, although it was a rebellious prepubescent flash in the pan observation. I am also not sorry I discontinued attending church services, failed to meet a man in church, or failed to marry in a church. If god exists and is omnipotent, he understands and doesn’t see the necessity in my clearing things with you.
As I was saying in paragraph one, the apology.
It would seem I committed an inexcusable breach of etiquette between the ages of three and four. You know the incident I am referring to; you’ve reminded me of it yearly since I was sixteen. Yes, that’s the one. That time I discovered the bottle of Oil of Olay on your make-up tray and asked if it was yours. After you acknowledged it, I asked if that was the cream designed to make you look younger, and you said it was. Then I told you not to waste any more money, it wasn’t working.
What can I say? I am the youngest of three, an unfortunate product of television as babysitter, pop-culture and insecurity based mass marketing. If society’s influence over impressionable children disturbs you, you know, write a letter to someone, or something.
I guess you’re probably wondering, why the sudden pang of guilt on my part? Well, I’m not dying , if that’s what you are thinking, well at least no faster than I should be… The thing is, since we moved to an area with lower humidity, for the first time in my life, I am suffering from dry skin. I mean, really WTF? So for the first time in my entire life, I am shopping for a fucking moisturizer. Do you know what the bottle says? Age defying. Age defying, my ass. I don’t look younger, I look like target with vanity issues and disposable income. Maybe, I do have some of your genes….
With love and christian kindness,
jaded
June 24th, 2009 at 7:50 am
I like the newer Oil of Olay products. I think I have one upstairs that targets seven problems. I haven’t bothered to figure out if I have all seven, or even what they are.
Grandmothers! Mine never forgave me for saying “If I want a kiss from you, I’ll let you know.” As far as I was concerned, she was a stranger we saw once a year, and the rest of the time, I only heard bad stuff about her from my mother.
June 24th, 2009 at 8:07 am
at first I was going to ask if your family had found this blog. Now I hope they did.
This is hilarious. I hope your grandma gets a copy.
June 24th, 2009 at 11:22 am
I think your comment showed wisdom beyond your years. We should all stop buying stuff like that to look younger, it isn’t working.
June 26th, 2009 at 10:42 am
De, I hear you. I don’t know about the other six either, but the dry skin… Older people an children have so much in common when it comes to being blunt.
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Bob, I should edit a little before sending it to her. She never has appreciated my bluntness.
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meno, I think that’s exactly why my grandmother hasn’t forgotten it.