Grandma Attack

A recent phone conversation between my sister and I while we were at work:

...blah, blah, blah about whatever the reason was for the call
(Insert random change of important topic to something not so important)
(Which means neither of us are really thrilled about hanging up and getting back to our work)

AND THEN...

Me: Hey, you know that time when we were kids and shopping at the mall with grandma?
Sis: Yeah?
Me: And she all of a sudden stopped in the middle of the mall?
Sis: (Laughing) Oh, yeah, that was hilarious!
Me: Okay, I'm having that...gotta go!
Sis: Oh weird, me too! *CLICK*
Me: *CLICK*

Let me explain myself and our secret 'I can't say I'm about to shit myself because people here at work will hear me tell you' code.

The holidays always find me reminiscing about what makes Christmas so special to me. One of those fond, oh so fond, memories is the time Grandma took my Sis and I (dragged me) shopping to the local mall. This was always a big deal for Grandma because she lived in a much smaller town that had only a Wal-Mart, TSC (for those of you city folk that is short for Tractor Supply Company) and oddly enough I think a Buckle on Main St.

As I reminisce, let me take you one step deeper into my memories and tell you that Grandma was notorious for carrying ginormous purses that could host a small immigrant for at least a week or so before running out of supplies. She was also notorious for clutching said purse with a white-knuckled-death-grip while mom drove all around 'the city' when she came to visit and take her shopping. (Which ALWAYS consisted of a stop at Merle Norman and the SAS Store for some new shoes).

On this particular Christmas Shopping Trip, Grandma wanted to go to the mall. The last place anyone wants to be two weeks before Christmas on a Saturday. The crowds, the noise, the crying babies, waiting in lines, uggghhh! Now, you know how most malls have an 'assumed' flow of traffic even though there is no written rule? And that during the holidays, doing anything to stop this 'assumed' flow of mass chaos could result in a real life trampling of someone? Okay, so now that the setting is painted for you, here is what ensued on that dreaded day:

Grandma: (STOPS DEAD IN HER TRACKS! Hand clutching said refugee bag, eyes focused intently ahead as if in a trance. She grabs my sister's arm with her other hand, stopping all of us dead in our tracks. With lips pursed together and in a voice as low as a whisper) Shelly, I can't move.
Sis: What?!?
Grandma: I'm serious. Don't move. I can't move. I gotta shit. Where is the nearest bathroom?
Me: Grandma, we're in the, mawwwwlllll! They don't have a lot of options here for restrooms.
Sis: (Noticing the seriousness in Grandma's voice and the said 'incident' that we were about to have on our hands.) Okay Grandma, it's okay. I see a bathroom just up ahead a ways on the other side. It's not far. We can go use that one.
Grandma: I can't! I gotta shit. I'm gonna shit myself right now. Oh my god, what do I do?
(Still assuming death grips on said bag and said sister) (People still trying to plow us over and giving us dirty looks for interrupting 'assumed' flow of traffic.)
Grandma: You don't understand! (Panic beginning to set in) I gotta shit! What do I do? I can't move?...

Well, long story a little shorter but not much, Grandma eventually made it too the restroom that day without down right shitting herself (I say that because I'm sure there was still some damage done to those panties of hers). However, I do think there was a little bit of lost dignity in it all. And from that day on the phrase, 'Grandma Attack', has a WHOLE NEW meaning to it in our family.

Thank you Grandma for the fond Christmas memories! And let's not forget about the sequined Christmas sweaters, matching earrings, great food, the PERFECT gifts, and multiple decorated trees with Santas all over and the train that ran under the tree!