This is a Nanna. Just as Nanna’s should be. Sweet, plump, near sighted, and dressed like Grannie in the Beverly Hill Billies. Perfect. Or so I say.
You see poor me, I was grandmother’less by the time I was twenty years old. I only knew my father’s mother as my mother’s mother passed away before I was born. And my grandmother, she baked and cooked and made tea just as a grandmother should. Though once, I swear, she called me a slut. Or slutty. I don’t remember now. So I wasn’t exactly in love with the grandmother idea. I was pretty happy with the way things were.
And that point was reinforced the other weekend as my cousin and I made pumpkin scones. Well, she made them, I was in charge of driving us to our location. And mid way she ran out of flour and we had to go because we were running late. So we bundled the scone mixture into a water tight container and headed over to her Mum’s house. Her Nanna was there.
As we unpacked the other goodies in the car her Mum set about finishing and baking the scones. Her Nanna gave directions from the table. Why was the mix so wet? Did she not know that she wasn’t supposed to add other wet ingredients? And why hadn’t she finished them yet… Don’t add too much flour. Heat the pan. Turn up the oven. And what the hell where you thinking making such a large batch!
I was in stitches. Literally laughing out loud but hidden behind my hand, of course, not excited to bring the Nanna wrath down on my own head. My cousin, she looked less impressed. Though she may have been upset at me for finding the whole thing so amusing. And when the Nanna left. I did just about the best impression of my life.
You see, I may not have a Nanna, but I can do an excellent Nanna impression.
Suger 
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