My mom called to have a good cry about my brother, and to tell me that my nephew’s great grandfather died last night. Poor oldest nephew. Damn.
We finally moved on to happier things, such as my mom helping my grandma go through her junk and finding an old receipt for the Palmer House Hotel from December 15, 1945 for $25. My mom was all, “Why did you keep this?”
And my grandma was like “I think that’s when your dad got discharged. We spent a weekend at the Palmer House.”
And my mom’s telling me how there’s all these charges for, like, using the radio and stuff.
And then my mom is all “Hey, I was born on September 9, 1946!”
And my grandma was all like, “Well, you didn’t expect me to just shake his hand when he got back, did you?”