My Granny turned 93 years old last week. She is having a birthday party this Saturday. Her kids are coming down from MD/PA/NY to visit, staying for the week, and cooking out. She has a party every year because once you’re 90, every one is pretty big deal, y’know? Granny is amazing and I love her to life… she raised 7 kids, most of whom are awesome adults. She birthed my mama into the world with her own hands because my Grandaddy was out somewhere with the car when Gramma went into labor. She’s the one who took my mom to the hospital to have me. I hope to have a baby girl that she is somehow involved in welcoming to the world, just to keep the chain going.

So anyway… she’s started complaining about this party because it’s apparently not going to be fabulous enough to suit her needs. A few years ago, I guess for her 90th, my great-aunts/uncles threw a shindig and invited her oldpeople friends, and everybody bought cards and gifts. This year’s party is going to be at the same exact house, with the same exact people, food and gifts (we always get her a housecoat) … I don’t really understand the difference but apparently it lies in the friend invitations and the delivery of “big cards.” Someone has been told, “you can keep your cake and ice cream if that’s all it’s gonna be.” She is feeling some kind of way and I’m really amused by it.

I want to get old enough to just not give a damn. To want what I want and demand it and not take no for an answer. Because at this point, her oldpeople friends are going to get invited, and there will be wrapped gifts and big cards… because she’s ninetyfreakinthree. And you can guilt your children and grandchildren and greatgrandchildren into making you feel super appreciated because they should be doing it anyway. I’m gonna get her a party hat and guilt her into wearing it, since I drove all the way from Charlotte and all. It’s the least she could do.