Generally, I do not like old people. I’m sorry. I know, I know, old people are full of wisdom and life and great stories, and blah blah blah. Maybe that’s true way down deep inside of old people, once you get past all the crazy and the funky smells (don’t lie, old people smell weird). I’m not sure what it is, but once people hit the age of 65, it’s like they lose the desire to be normal and start wearing pants that have elastic waistbands.
The only thing I like about old people is that they say whatever the hell they want, whenever the hell they want and no one can do a damn thing about it because that’s grandma and she’s old and doesn’t know better and she will cut you if you say otherwise. (Old people are feisty).
However, I am going to make 2 exceptions (currently) to my disdain for old people: my grandparents. Luckily, I only have 2 grandparents and not the standard 4, so I don’t have to excuse that many old people for their oldness. (Sorry Dad, I’m sure that your parents would be exempt from my hate as well. But, it’s hard to say).
I have a Grandma and a Pop Pop. They belong to my mom. They are old. Seriously. They’re my mom’s parents. THAT IS OLD. My Grandma probably remembers when the tampon was invented and my Pop Pop probably remembers when people communicated through symbols on walls in caves. He’s got the grunting thing down really well, so I’m sure he was a caveman.
My grandparents are pretty cool for old people. I mean, they do the regular cool stuff that most grandparents do: bake me cookies, give me vegetables from the garden, and slip money in my pocket. But, my grandparents are totally cooler than normal grandparents. Proof:
• My Pop Pop once gave me a jug of whiskey (disclaimer: I was 21. Pop Pop don’t mess around). No, I don’t know what kind it was or how old it was. But I drank it for weeks. It was whiskeylicious. My grandma once gave me leftover wine in a Mason jar. We’re from the country, that’s how we roll.
• They go on cooler vacations than anyone else I know. My grandparents have been all over America. They have whooped the ass of this country by plane, train, bus, and cruise ship. Your grandparents are sitting on their asses while mine are chilling on a boat in Bermuda.
• They are thrifty. I mean that in the literal sense, like my grandma works at the thrift store. But, my Pop Pop really knows how to stretch a dollar. He will wrap up the dinner roll at the restaurant and put it in your purse because Sarah, you might want that later and technically you paid for it. Touche, Pop Pop. You’re so right.
• They know everyone. EVERYONE. They probably know you. They probably know celebrities and just don’t tell me because they know how that story would end and they don’t want their name connected to mine in the morning paper when I’m caught outside Britney Spears’ house and she doesn’t invite them to the cool parties anymore.
There’s more, I’m sure. Well, I’m not just sure, I know. But I wouldn’t want them to read this and get the impression that I’m sappy. I avoided all the sweet things they do like come to church when I sing even though they don’t like church (thanks, Pop Pop!). Or like how my grandma makes the most awesome jam. And pie. And ice cream. And cake. What? You think your grandma is a good cook? My grandma is the iron chef of grandmas. Back off.
What I’m trying to say is that I hate old people. Seriously. But my grandparents aren’t old people. They’re awesome people. I think they might secretly be superheroes. I’m not sure.
– Sarah #2