A Conversation with Grandma

mi: Gram what are you doing?

Gram: I'm working so hard. I'm getting this dirt behind the house all flat.

mi: Why? You look trashed. You should go in the house.

Gram: Well, the dirt needs to be straight. That's how I like it. And I'm sweatin' like a colored boy at election.

mi: Gram, I think it's colored boy at a lynchin'.

Gram: No, that's not how it goes.

mi: Gram, why would a colored boy be sweating at an election? Is he afraid Abraham Lincoln might be elected? Don't you think it's more likely that a colored boy would be sweating at a lynchin'?

Gram: Well, I don't care, that's just how it's said.

mi: And by the way Gram, we don't really say colored boy anymore.

Gram: Okay, what do we say?

mi: Well, the p.c. people like to say African American... but I just say black.

Gram: Used to you couldn't say black.

mi: I think that was blackie... but black is fine.

Gram: Okay black then. I'm sweatin' like a black boy at election.

mi: No one's sweatin' anymore gram, Obama is President now. Time to come up with a new one.


A Conversation at the Pool

My convo with gram reminded me of the pool convo, which is almost as good. We were at our outdoor neighborhood pool a few years ago. No one was ever there because it was a retirement community and it's wrong for old people to swim. Their hair never recovers.
Anyway, this boy, maybe 7 or 8, comes in with his grandma.

boy to Devon: Are you Italian?

Devon: No, I'm African (because poor devon has no idea what he is, he's so not p.c.)

boy: Wow, do you get to see a lot of elephants and giraffes?

Devon: No.

boy: Oh, I'm Italian. That's why I have brown skin too. (which by the way, wasn't even close to Devon's)

Devon: Ohhhhhhh.