Granny succombs to the alluring call of the Kit Kat

Families tend to be honest, at times to a fault. And while their candid observations can be beneficial, dispelling the farcical perceptions we possess of ourselves, their delivery can be a bit, well … brutal. Growing up in a female- dominated family, I’m accustomed to such rebukes.

“Stop walking around with your nose in the air,” my oldest sister Wendy has scolded me on many occasions, tilting her own nose upward in a mean-spirited mimic. “You’re going to run into something.”

“Well, at least I don’t shake my hips when I walk,” has been my typical reply, swaying my own hips from side to side in a rhythmless rendition of my sister’s strut.

Now, these straight-forward criticisms aren’t solely confined to my sisters and me. As last weekend confirmed, Granny Virgie, too, can be frank when she speaks.

Granny had just finishing frying up pork chops when I called on her last Friday night. And as we settled around her kitchen table to eat, she told me of a recent transgression.

“Oh my goodness,” she sighed. “I went Valentine’s Day shopping yesterday and bought some chocolate.”

“Well that’s good, Granny,” I smiled, sensing there was more to her story.

“I’m ‘shamed,” she then confessed. “I opened a big pack of Kit Kats and ate the whole thing.”

“Granny!” I cried, barely containing my laughter.

“I know,” she frowned. “And I didn’t even buy those Kit Kats for me. They were a Valentine’s Day gift!”

The Kit Kat conversation transpired into community talk. And after I’d heard of all the Epsom happenings, I hugged my granny goodbye.

“Shug, lemme show you something before you leave,” she then said, motioning me to her refrigerator door. Pointing to a recent photograph of me she remarked, “You’re big boned.”

“I see,” I grumbled.

“And if you don’t work out and watch what you eat, you could grow up to be a big woman,” Granny said as she handed me three Valentine’s Day bags packed with Hershey’s chocolate labeled for Mama, Daddy and sister Wendy.

Scowling another goodbye, I scurried out of the kitchen door and dismissed Granny’s assessment.

The next day, Wendy stopped by for an afternoon visit.

“Let’s go grocery shopping,” she suggested.

And so I joined Wendy for some Saturday sister bonding at a local grocery store.

The shopping trip began with a bump, squeak and rattle as I retrieved one of the many metal carts stationed at the grocer’s front door. I scooted down the first few aisles, immediately spying my favorite chocolate candy – Kit Kat bars.

“Hey Wendy, guess what Granny Virgie told me last night,” I said as my sister strolled along to a shelf of Ragu pasta sauce.

“Hmmmm?” she replied, placing a jar of the Ragu into the cart.

And so I told her of Granny’s comical feast with the Kit Kat bars, ending the tale with:

“She said that I’m big boned! And that I’m going to grow up to be a big woman if I don’t watch out!”

“Oh, I know,” my sister sardonically replied. “She’s told me the same thing about you.”

Wendy appeared giddy as she sauntered ahead of me to inspect the expiration dates on pre-packaged meat. And while Wendy stocked up on Italian sausage and hamburger, I pushed my rickety grocery cart forward and considered Granny’s indictment. Yet I dismissed her big-bone theory when, returning to the Kit Kat shelf, something finally dawned on me.

Granny had eaten my Valentine’s Day treat!



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