Unfortunately, that’s all it did. I now remember why I don’t tell my grandmother anything… she flips like nothing else. I made the fatal mistake of mentioning I was thinking about taking up guitar lessons… you’d think I asked her to hand over a kidney and a thousand dollars the way she flew off the handle. She got all paranoid and such about me not being able to read braille if I took lessons, and all that… meanwhile, I haven’t touched anything in braille that wasn’t absolutely critical in at least 5 years–everything I need, from bills to newspapers in most cases, I find online anyway. Though that’s admitedly necessitated by the fact virtually no one sends bills in braille anyway, so if I plan to pay to use, say, my cell, I’d best be with a company that offers an online bill. Fortunately most companies nowadays do, or should, so that isn’t an issue. Though for the second entry in a row I’ve gone and gotten off track again.
Anyway. So she threw a fit about that, and everyone there–which consisted of the 3 of us (see my last entry)–pretty much told her she was looped. Yeah, okay, so I’ll probably end up with calouses on one hand. That’s why I was born with two… I’ve read one-handed before, I can do it again. But, my dear old grandmother bless her heart likes to think she knows what she’s talking about, and half the time the information she’s got is about 30 years out of date, not that it would apply to me anyway. Of course the other half I swear she’s just being senile, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, so the afternoon served only to remind me why it is she knows as little about my life, as stellar as it is, as humanly possible. If only because I’m not downplaying whatever the hell she decides to exagerate to the point of complete and utter nonsense about my absolutely stellar life. That’s supposed to be my job. At least I can make it believeable. Sorta.