My maternal grandmother is at or around 90 and quite spry. Â She deftly dodged my attempts at pictures and was able to mock my dad for having dropped a large jar of pickles. Â She told a few stories about what was going on in her care facility but at one point said she still refused to have spaghetti and meatballs.
Me: Why no spaghetti?
Her: Terry, you need to understand my first encounter with the stuff.
Me: Ok, what was it.
Her: I had just gotten off the boat from Ireland and there was this man eating something out of a can. Â He put his spoon it, and it came out with strings on it and a ball of meat. Â He looked at me and asked “would you like some? Â It’s spaghetti and it’s good” and the strings were stuck to his face and he had a wild look to him. Â I think he was a Scot. Â And since then, I swore I would never be like that man.
At least she has her principles.