So things have been slow on the first floor of ’66 but moving along quickly in my little upstairs nook lately, hence the absence. But, alas, enough things have been happening that I’ve plopped myself down after some leftover Ziti and am going to update you all.
This happened just tonight:
Me: “I’ve applied to fourteen places now!” (stretch, sigh)
Grandpa: “Have you applied to ShopRite yet?”
Me: ….(open my mouth to say a sassy comment, rethink)…..(talking slowly, nodding to help him agree)”I’m not going to apply there now, I’m looking for REAL jobs now”
Grandpa: “Just tell them you can work Mondays and Fridays to help ’em out”
I’m convinced he thinks the managers stores are still buddies with all the associates, giving them their 10 cent wages and letting them work without W2 forms or any sort of paperwork. Even when I tell him I have EIGHT WEEKS left he completely ignores it. le sigh. The life of living with a man who was alive when bread cost 5 cents per loaf.
In other news, he’s created a new yummy combination for me to gag over.
Me (staring at my cup full of mac n’ cheese that I can’t finish): “Should I save this?”
Grandpa (waving it away): “Nahhh that’s not worth anything any way. You’d have to put some mayonnaise in it to give it some flavor when you go to eat it again anyways”
Me (yet again): …..(disgusted face, like i’m staring at a dirty diaper)
In other news, I’m still learning that being gullible is a curse, and that in order for me to survive (literally), I need to be careful of what I agree to. Ahem:
Grandpa followed me into the kitchen tonight, as always, and threw a box full of microwave mac n’ cheese packets, opened, on the counter. Earlier I also saw a box of ShopRite mac n’ cheese on the counter. Thank goodness I had already started my meal. He starts: “Here, you can sift through this and find something, right?”
My thoughts….Grandpa, I know for a fact you haven’t gone shopping all week. In case you forgot, you told me this today.
My actions: When he walked out of the room, I checked the dates. Expired, expired, expired. I’m not an expiration queen, mind you, but from working in a grocery store I DO know that mac n’ cheese normally lasts a long time before it’s expired. Conclusion: He made his way to the pig food guy the other day, and found some expired food to help his poor broke granddaughter eat so I won’t starve. I’m pretty sure he thinks I have about $10 in my bank account at all times. And although that’s what it feels like, I’m pretty sure I can afford fresh food. My plan of attack for this situation is to buy my own mac n’ cheese, hide it in a low cupboard, make it, and then throw away a packet or box every time I make one so he thinks I’m using what he brought me. I’m getting really good at this sneaking around thing. I never did it before I was 22 and living with my grandparents, go figure. For instance: when do I take out my trash, you ask? When he goes to church every Sunday, around 12 noon, so that I won’t hear about how much trash I produce (I’m a girl!).
Oh! And to top it off, I had been wondering why there was a box of Passover Matzos on the counter for a couple of days now. Being the fatty I am, I tried one after dinner. Can you say STALE?! I had to spit it out! It was in the chewy stages, past the point of just overly crisp. And to top it off, I go to look at the date and he ripped off the top part of the box where the date had been.
Touché, grandpa, touché.