you can't win them all

To preface, I love my Grandmother more than life. She was and is for all practical purposes my mother and I truly believe my soul mate. It really scares the me sometimes when I think about how much we are alike. Although I'm sure it scares the Wife even more.

Given that she turns 75 this year and was raised in rural north Georgia by poor Scotch-Irish dirt farmers she is incredibly progressive in her thinking.

She is completely supportive of me being a lesbian and finds great pleasure in showing off pictures from our wedding to all the old ladies at her beauty parlor. Which I think she does out of fierce pride and an even fiercer desire to see if anyone disagrees with her so she can argue with them. Which according to her she does quite often.

My grandma is a champion of gay rights in a town that needs one in the worst way. It brings me more joy than you can imagine to think of her raising hell with the other blue-hairs about gay marriage equality.

That being said she is still a 75 year old woman raised by poor Scotch-Irish farmers in rural north Georgia...and sometimes there is no escaping it.

On the phone the other day she begins spouting off letters to me, as she does every single time we talk, asking me how I would pronounce this word. Normally it is the name of her new prescription but this day it was her doctor.

Grams: "V-I-L-L-A-N-U-E-V-A"

Me: (after grabbing a pen) "Oh it's Villanueva, is your doctor Hispanic?"

Grams: "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" (said with total disgust)

Me: "Uh Grandma, I'm Hispanic"

Grams: "Well, I just mean he's not Mexican"

Me: "Well, he could be Mexican."

Grams: "No, no, no, he is too good looking."


I'm guessing my Grandmother won't be giving the ladies at Birdie's Beauty Parlor a lecture on immigration rights anytime soon.