When They Leave I Can Really Get Creative
I tell my grandchildren that I live in a van down by the river.
They laugh, delighted.
I call myself trailer trash.
They dance to this, happy that I am here now, amusing them.
I throw out equally outrageous statements as we paint rocks and junk.
Why do you do say these things?
My daughter asks in a prissy, haughty, borderline stuck-up way.
Her husband winks at me.
Encouraged, I tell their children that I am a bag lady, and
I cannot wait to live under a bridge.
My son-in-law and I both laugh at my daughter’s look of horror.
I cannot wait until they go to dinner, so I can really get creative.
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