Grandpa’s coming

That is what I am hearing around here. Along with “What time will Grandpa get here?” I feel bad about it . . . not jealousy, more like a sense of throwing him to the wolves while I settle down with my Kindle.
But he seems to like it, so . . . YES!
Woo Hoo and all that.

I gets even better: Someone has taken it in her head to cook Thanksgiving dinner and so far, I am only responsible for the mashed potatoes. I am guessing Grandpa will be her sous chef. (My mouth is smiling and I didn’t even realize it until my cheeks started hurting.) This could be better than actually blowing up a frozen turkey in a deep fat cooker – one of my Mythbuster-type KABOOM dreams.

I think I will  go to the grocery store in about an hour. Then I’ll come back and announce, “Here’s your stuff, See ya.”

It may not go as smoothly as Someone thinks, but Grandpa, the sous chef, will be there to soothe tempers  . . . and I will be there with my camera.