I’d play secretary at her desk by looking through her cool stationary and junk mail magazines. She'd have a candy dish full of butterscotches. In the bathroom I’d see all her tubes of lipstick. Right before we left she’d show me how to apply lipstick and smack my lips together to set the color. Maybe we’d go shopping and she’d buy me pretend make-up. Or we could even go to the beauty parlor on Wed and I’d wait for her while her long grey hair would get washed and combed into her trademark bun, (in real life she never wanted me to see her with her hair undone).
With my great grandma I'd paint her fingernails. I’d have plenty of colors to choose from. I’d admire her princess pink bathroom with the vanity and infinite bottles of perfume and make-up. I'd look at her pretty hair combs and fancy broaches. We’d play a game of cards. She’d drink her glass of red wine. She’d make her infamous deviled eggs (which I wouldn’t touch). I would however, eat her apples baked in her old fashioned white oven coated in cinnamon and sugar.
She’d tell me how she’s afraid that the ceiling fan above us will fall on her head. I’d assure she’s safe. I’d see her stack of tabloid trashazines on the table and shake my head. She’d tell me they had more truth in them than the local newspaper. Then she’d show me her garden in the back yard to show me what she had planted.
I still wear that necklace she gave me.