“But I don’t like that stuff, Ma,” I growled, knowing that this was another war of wills that I was not likely to win, but, after all, it was self-defense. My grandma–normally the sweetest, most considerate soul you’d ever want to meet–had an evil alter ego. A malicious, dark side would take control of her from time to time and turn her kitchen into a culinary weapons lab where she’d experiment with concoctions designed to torture innocent, harmless kids.
The stuff she was spooning onto my plate smelled like the vegetable-equivalent of boiled liver and made starvation look downright appealing. “Evil-side” Grandma launched a familiar counterattack in response to my opening salvo. Mimicking “Nice-Grandma’s” most encouraging tone, she said, “Don’t be silly, it’s just that your Continue reading
accused of gobbling up cookies, hot chocolate, fruit cake, and leftovers that might be sitting around in plain sight–well, maybe not that stale eggplant casserole you left out last year–but he doesn’t go plundering through all your personal belongings. Plus, you at least get advance notice of his plans. “Pre-dawn raid” sounds like something we’d 
dropped the lever into Drive and headed out. After a few nervous minutes of creeping along and confessing every sin I could think of just in case I fell through, it sort of got to be fun. Running 70 to 80 mph on packed snow and ice, then hitting the brakes to 
