She wasn't to know I wasn't her real grandson. This partly explained the see through negligee, but the old waltzer? Well that was inexcusable. He would have to go. No-one would come between me and "granny".
I never mentioned the whole charade to Dennis. I fear he would have tried to talk me out of it. Dennis always was good at Snap! But I won the last game we played, so really, he had no control over the matter anymore. It was our agreement.
Reluctantly, he stroked his turnip, egged on by "granny". He used to grow them, but we were all so angry about it that we would dig them up and place them in his children's ears as they slept. This was yet another from the rescue shelter. I always found they worked better than shop-bought turnips.
The old waltzer trundled along, childless, seatless, and sprayed with pesticides. Wearing nothing but an oil slick, she concluded her perambulations with a shuffle-two step and collapsed full length on the rug. "It's cold down here", she said, "if I can just scratch my fingers hard enough on the coffin lid, there may be a chance". We poked her with the last of the turnips. Even "granny" laughed.
Dennis poked his head around the corner. "Having fun?"
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