Breakfast for Dinner

My grandmother, bless her heart, is the most wonderful person on the planet. Her natural disposition as a worrier leads her to worry that my house isn't clean enough, thus taking it upon herself to clean it. After said cleaning, she'll relay what she has done to me, making me feel horribly for being such a slob, and worry that it still isn't clean enough and that it is her fault. I did my laundry on Sunday and she kept saying to me, "Let me know when you're done so I can help you fold anything!" I brought a hand to my heart, touched at the sentiment and adamant that I would never make her do such a thing, though I unconsciously allow my mother to fold all of my freshly cleaned clothes on a regular basis. Shame on me. And shame on anyone who would take advantage of their grandmother whenever she stays with them. Mine makes me french toast and eggs when I come home from school, remarking I haven't eaten all week, which might, in fact, be true. And then, Lord love the woman, she worries I might not like the way it tastes because she hasn't made french toast in such a long time. I had to insist I enjoyed it thoroughly maybe five times before she conceded, "I'm glad you liked it." It was an awful large amount of food, for someone who barely eats regularly, making my stomach turn and forcing me to give up after a slice and 1/4. I felt horribly, knowing she would worry I hadn't liked it when in fact I did not feel well at all. Anyway, my conclusion is this: Grandmothers are the sweetest, dearest people ever known to walk the Earth and I am lucky to have such a great one. Cheers to grandmas!