"My grandmother has been jaded in terms of any family member getting into a relationship for quite a while. I'd say she gave up in terms of finding a partner in her 30s and is getting close to 70 as I type. She has jet black hair, with a pale and cold face that reminds people of winter. She always sits with her legs akimbo, her immense stomach pulled through this gap by gravity, to the extent that her elbows always dig into her knees as a type of support to keep herself from falling forwards. Anyway, she was very upset to be losing her "little boy to a money-grabbing whore" and was especially frightened after I remarked I'd end up living near New York to be with my charming other half.
"New York? Oh no! You'd better be careful there!"
"Oh no? Why not, Nan?"
"Because of the crocodiles!"
"Yes!There's an alleyway in New York somewhere, where crocodiles come out of the manholes and drag people down to the sewers and eat them. Crocodile Alley, it's called."
Cue a conversation for a good ten minutes about how New York wouldn't be such a thriving tourist destination if the average tourist had a chance of death by alligator, and her eventual admission that she was watching the news, may have drifted off, and may have woke up near the end of a film with a crocodile, and may have linked the two clips together.
Thankfully, I didn't get crocoraped and moved out towards Washington state, which is one of the more northwest states. Right next to Canada, in fact.
"Ooh! Canada! Oh no! Watch out there!"
"Why's that, nan?"
"Because of the students!"
"The students. Why are they so bad?"
"I watched a documentary and every student in Canada is gay or lesbian!"
"Okay. And this makes it a bad place?"
"Yes! How are you going to find male friends in Canada when they get you drunk and want to grab onto your winky?"
Cue a ten minute conversation about the evil student men who love to grab winkies and jerk off people anywhere they can get away with it.
"They don't try it in America because they've got guns."
Nan swears to her grave that the documentary told her that students can work themselves gay.
She also had a game which she'd play when she wanted me to go over the road and get her some shopping. She'd give me five pounds if I'd pick up something she hadn't put on her shopping list, so long as she liked my choice. I essentially had to make an impulse purchase for her to gain extra pocket money for myself. Sometimes she'd tell me she hated my offering, but would play a double-or-nothing round and invite me to go back and buy what she really wanted. These items were typically things she didn't want at all, she just wanted to embarrass me. A test of my bravery and/or my greed; my true colours.
It still haunts me that I was so desperate for money that the first time I bought condoms, aged a tender 14, I didn't use them. The conversation led into me explaining to the friendly shopkeep that these condoms were not for me, but for my withering grandmother instead. The ten pounds was spent well before the ridicule slowed down.
I've got to be grateful that she taught me that money wasn't everything, at least."
I need to find more websites like this, and even look into designing a website where I can just keep writing. I like it when I have the opportunity to write some nonsense down. Maybe a pointless review website. I don't know, that's a big step and another cost at a time when I've got to be cautious. But I do want to use my writing style more than I do. I like making people laugh.