Yesterday, my dear friend, author of the Footprints blog, shared a story about the car her dad drove. This immediately reminded me of my most embarrassing moment with my grandma, and this is something Mrs. S. wants me to share.
My story also involves an oh-so-shame car.
Let me start with this: my grandma is freaking awesome. She is one of the nicest, kindest, most generous people I have ever known. My grandma epitomizes the word, "grandma." From elementary through the early parts of high school, she picked us up from school everyday in her white 1960s Plymouth.
The embarrassing moment came on one of those days, in that car.
So the car was this huge, white, 1960s American behemoth. As a kid, it was embarrassing because it was so old. On top of that, my grandma drove extremely slow (she got her license late in life, after my grandpa's incapacitating stroke, and she never drove on the freeways). I always felt bad for the people behind us. Of course, my grandma was oblivious.
Then one day, someone did something that made her mad, and out the window she yelled, "DAAAMMNN YOU!!!" She may have shaken her fist out the window.
Are you sinking down a little in your chair for me? Maybe covering your eyes? I know I did. After all, she was driving so slow that you could see all the people on the sidewalks turn and look.
Can you even imagine my sweet grandma bellowing those words out the window of her car? Well, she did.