Another week has gone by with Granny in tow, but the rescue team came down for a few days to take her out and about and just do some general visiting.

Hubs’ younger brother came down with his bride for a few days and they’ve kept her mighty busy. She got bundled up and taken to the local Danish village for a day of eating and sightseeing, and they came to fetch her for another day of being out and about today.

The weather has seen fit to be warm and balmy, just right for being outdoors. They went off to the zoo and then off to the beach to watch other tourists sit and look at each other.

I have been loving the quiet.

A few hours to myself to watch what I want to watch on television without having to listen to gripes, groans and general complaints.

I knew she was totally pooped last night, as she seems to really be off  her game once the evening hours roll in.

She had her hot water bottle tucked under her chin and asked, “Have we had Christmas yet?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Yep. All done with Christmas.”

“How ’bout New Year’s?”

“Yep. Come and gone.”

There was a moment of silence and she said, “Well, if New Year’s has come and gone, so has my birthday.”

“That’s right. You don’t remember your birthday?”

She shook her head.

“OK. Well, since it was just your birthday, how old are you?”

She took a deep breath, adjusted the hot water bottle and said, “I’m 92. I was born in 1930, so I’m 92.”

“Think again, old lady. Recalculate.”

She giggled for a minute and said, “Well, if I was born in 1930, then that makes me 92.”

I said, “Oh no you don’t. You cannot add 10 years to your life without adding 10 years to my life. So think again.”

She made a face and said, “Well, I don’t know then.  How old am I?”

“Think hard. You can do it. Stop trying to get off easy. Nineteen thirty to twenty twelve is how many years?”

She made a mad sound, like a growl, and said, “I don’t wanna have to think about it. Just tell me!”

“No! Figure it out! Stop being a crybaby and answer the question. How old are you?”

“I’m 92, I tell ya. Ninety-two!”

“Well, you might feel 92, but you aren’t.”

She snorted and said, “Well ... all right then ... I guess I’m ... what ... 82.”

“Thaaaaat’s right. Only 82.”

“Well, why the heck do I keep telling people I’m 92?”

“I don’t know, but you need to stop cause it’s annoying. You’re not totally daft, only half way so.”

She giggled again and said, “Tell me again. Did we have Christmas?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Did we have your birthday?”

Mind you, if you’ve read this far, you know we have just discussed having her birthday.

She shrugged and said, “I dunno. Did we have my birthday already?”

“Yes. We just had the conversation. What did we talk about?”

“I don’t remember.  How old am I? Ninety-two?”

“Don’t you remember that I just chewed your butt about telling people that? Stop trying to get complimented for looking young for ninety-two. How old are you?’

“Well ... I was born in nineteen thirty and its now twenty twelve ... so that makes me ... what ... ninety two.”

“Again,  no it doesn’t.”

“Eighty two?’

“Yes. Only 82.”

“And did you say whether or not we have had Christmas already?”

“Yes. We have. For the fifth time in as many minutes.”

Seriously. It’s like an Abbott and Costello routine, although not nearly as funny when you’re one half of the routine. I should really videotape it for YouTube, because it would go viral so quickly. Everyone could definitely “recognize.”

After sort of figuring that out, she took another deep breath and asked “What time are they picking me up tomorrow?”

“What time did they tell you?”

“I don’t know. Did they say 8?”

“Who is they? Who is picking you up?”

“Well, I know who is picking me up ... I just need to know when.”

“Eleven. They’re picking you up at 11.”

“So I don’t need to get up early then.”

“Not terribly. But in enough time to shower and get dressed.”

She got quiet for a minute and said, “What time am I supposed to be ready tomorrow?”

I got up and walked over to the wall, placed my forehead firmly against it and started gently bouncing it off the wall.

She thought that was terribly funny.

I was just hoping it would change the subject.

“Really. Tell me. What time are they coming?”

“It won’t matter because I’ll probably put a pillow over your head tonight while you’re sleeping. Then they can come at 11 to collect the body.”

She giggled, but didn’t ask another question til “Everybody Loves Raymond” came on.

“Is he gay?”

“Yes. He is. So is Robert and so is Frank. So is Marie.”

She shook her head.

But she had her question answered and went to bed happy.

Wish I could say the same.