I can remember my Grandmother jumping off the couch and start cleaning up out of nowhere. I’d ask why and she would say that her nose had started itching and that meant company was coming.
I swear to you, it never failed that someone would show up that same day.
She would always start a new pot of coffee too.
No truer words, that’s funny ass shit right thar
This more reflects my grandparents generation than my parents. Gram and Gramps always had some sort of Entemann’s dessert on hand, and I do remember seeing Sanka sometimes. But more likely they had Safari (a local brand of some repute years back) coffee in a #10 can.
That was funny as hell. I had tears coming out of my eyes. That’s exactly how I was raised.
Brings back memories, it does!
As a kid, it meant ducking in and around the table while everyone was playing Canasta. I would scoop up buns, cheese, slices of kavbasa, and hijack most of the pickles. Then sitting around the corner with my dog and the other kids who had tagged along.
I fell and hurt my knee last week and went to the ER to get it X-Rayed to make sure nothing was broken. My 89 year old mother in a Senior Care home 300 mile away called the next day and asked what happened to me because she knew I got hurt. That kind of thing happens all the time.
I don’t have a doorbell. The only people who stop by my house unexpected have a “cop” knock. F%%k.