“If I don’t save the wee turtles, who will? BAH! Save me from the wee turtles!”

Before I left Wisconsin, my grandparents basically had me lay a claim on anything I wanted in the house “before we die and your awful Aunt Julie comes in here and takes everything, you know how she is.”

Yes, yes I do know that the second they die she’ll have the house stripped of everything of value, razed, and sold before their bodies are even cold. It still doesn’t mitigate the awkwardness of walking through someone else’s life to pick out the things that I like–the 1970s zodiac barometer, the ridiculously heavy statue that it takes two people tag-teaming to lift, the china even though I’m not sure it’s a pattern I’d choose for myself but because grandma is so anxious for me to have it–because it acknowledges death in a way that I’m completely and utterly uncomfortable with.

Grandpa, bless his heart, tried to mitigate this awkwardness by pressing some metal turtles into my hands. “There’s a boy and a girl. Want to know how to tell them apart? Turn them over.”

I’d seen these sitting on the bookshelf near the Encyclopedia Britannica for YEARS and never suspected a thing. Yes, I brought them home. Apparently dick jokes are not just my stock and trade, they’re my legacy.

2 Comments “If I don’t save the wee turtles, who will? BAH! Save me from the wee turtles!”

  1. Holly Folly December 12, 2012 at 12:01 pm

    That would be pretty awkward. Me and my uncle were recently talking about this with grandma, and we came to the conclusion it would be better if she just never died. I don’t think that is going to work that way though.

  2. Emily December 13, 2012 at 11:33 am

    That made me laugh. Big hugs to that grandpa.

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