Ma and Pa Lang Have Fangs.

I figured Gram would be interested in hearing about my trip to New York.  She wasn't. We touched on my trip for about 30 seconds, but then Gram switched the subject and informed me she was breaking out "in spots."  I asked why and she said, "some allergic reaction."  I told her thank goodness she didn't have a hot date planned.  "Oh, I know." she chuckled.  I asked what she had done today.  "I worked around the house."  I am sure that entailed her shredding all mail with her name on the envelope. 

Gram mentioned my upcoming birthday.  I told her I couldn't believe I was going to be 26.  "You're getting up there."  she said.  "What about you?"  I asked.  "What about me?"  she responded.  Then she said, "Well.  We're both getting there."  I agreed with her, but said, "We are still spring chickens."  "That's right!"  I reminded Gram of the time when I was six-years-old and she had lied and told me she was born in 1934.  Gram didn't understand that I was simply recalling a memory and said, "No.  I was born in 1924."  "I know,"  I said, "But you lied and said you were born in 1934."  "That's not right.  I was born in 1924."  she said. I am glad we cleared that up.

I asked Gram about my letter that seems to not have arrived.  "I was thinking about that," she lied.  "I Promise.  I will write you a letter."  It amazes me how much this Catholic woman lies.  She gives the Annual Catholic Appeal more money than I pay in rent.  She goes to church every weekend.  She watches church on television (albeit, she falls asleep, but it counts).  I guess as a Catholic you have to do that kind of thing when all you do is lie to your favorite grandchild.  Gram used to go on pilgrimages to Canada.  I will have to ask her about that.  I may tread lightly as she may take that as I have an interest in returning to church.

Because of her recent lies, I am going to ask if she remembers the song we used to sing when she dropped Meaghan and I off after our Irish dancing lessons.  I predict a denial.  A little back story:  We had Irish dance lessons every Tuesday.  They were so awful that my mom had no interest in ever seeing us perform.  My dad didn't either.  Our parents were our biggest fans. Each week, Gram brought us to the John Boyle O'Reilly Club, I would have my lesson first, and while I waited for Meaghan to finish with her lesson, I would sit with Gram in the bar downstairs and scam free food from the bartender.  (It's amazing what dimples at the age of six can get you--Fat.)  Gram talked to the Irish dancing stage moms as Meaghan and I were the only ones whose grandmother brought them to class.  On the ride home we stopped at McDonald's and got sundaes.  Gram always threw her trash out the window.  I was an environmentalist at the time and admonished her behavior, but Gram simply shrugged.  "It'll decompost."  We listened to Irish music or just really bad music, but once Gram turned on to Beauchamp Street, she turned down the radio and said, "Ya ready?" Meaghan and I grinned, and we broke out in song and sang, "Ma and Pa Lang Have Fangs!  Ma and Pa Lang Have Fannnnngs!"  Gram screamed the words and drove to the end of our dead end street so we had a little more time to sing smack about my parents. "Now don't tell Ma and Pa our secret."  she said.  We promised not to.  As we said our goodbyes, Meaghan gave Gram a nice kiss on the cheek, but I always gave her the kind you give babies on their stomach.  I still do.  It still makes us laugh. 

I hope Gram remembers the song.  Maybe we can have an encore.