Because I care

You've changed, Nana.

There, I've said it. You have this silent, haughty air about you lately. At first I thought it was a temporary ego thing after Willard Scott announced your 100th birthday on air, but a couple of years have passed and nothing's changed. It's so easy for people to get caught up in your grammy sweaters and your Captain Kangaroo 'do and think aw, she's so cute. But I'm not buying it anymore. Seriously, I'm so done.

I don't care how old you are. I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. You're acting like a dick.

Don't give me that confused look. Alright, let me lay it all out on the table:

1) Listen up, you. I'm 34 years old. A five spot in a birthday card isn't gonna cut it anymore. I realize in your day five dollars would have bought you a log cabin, or a parasol, or whatever you people spent your money on before there was good stuff, but welcome to the future, Nana. Shit's expensive. And the way you so carelessly scrawl your name at the bottom of the card, I can't read a word of it. I don't care how bad your hand shakes, you better find a way to pull yourself together and eek out something resembling a legible signature. Put some effort into it. Take a pill, ask your home health care worker to hold your wrist steady, whatever you gotta do, just make it happen.

2) Is there something wrong with our air? It suits me just fine, same with everyone else you know. But apparently our stupid old atmosphere isn't up to your standards. Don't think it's gone unnoticed that you keep your own private stash (the good stuff, no doubt) in a tank nearby so you don't have to breathe the generic brand. We are literally not fit to breathe the same air, are we. This is elitism at its worst. It's AIR, Nana, it's free, and look around...it's freakin everywhere!

3) Sleeping 23 hours a day is for cats and hobos, so wake the hell up. Come on, up and at 'em! Days a wastin'! It's not like the other waking hour of your day is so exhausting. I mean, you have not one, but TWO people holding you by your armpits every time you go anywhere, so how tiring can your life possibly be? I wish I had it that good, I wish people would carry ME around everywhere by my armpits. I work hard, blogging and texting and thinking all the time, but I manage to walk to the bathroom from my seat in front of the tv and back like everyone else. People are starting to talk about how lazy you are, and frankly, I'm tired of defending you.

4) I, too, get tired of chewing sometimes. I know, food can be so damn chunky. But I get through it, and so should you. The fact that you demand that your food be pureed to a pulp is just such diva behavior. Listen Ms. Ross, use the teeth your periodontist gave you, open up, and get to work. Eat your eggplant parmesan whole and unblended like everyone else, because you're really no better than the rest of us.

5) My name is Becky. BECKY. Here, I'll help you out. You know a neat trick to remember it? It's the same as your name. Which is also BECKY. I know, it's tricky. But in any case my name's not "Howdi-li-do!," or "Don't you look festive today!" And winking at me with your twinkly eye and bright grandmotherly smile does not a greeting make.

6) Woman, we get it. You've been around for over a century, and in that time you have acquired an impressive collection of jewelry. But really, there is no need to flaunt it in our faces every day. What statement are you trying to make with this endless parade of bedazzled hummingbird broaches and gold rope chain necklaces adorned with cardinals, honeybees, and sparrows? Are you trying to make everyone jealous? Well, guess what. It worked. Happy?

7) The drama. Oh Lord, the drama you bring with you everywhere you go. These "Petite Mal Seizures" and "Temporary Comatose States" you seem to miraculously fade in and out of, it's barely funny anymore. You realize you almost ruined Thanksgiving when we had to remove you from the table and lay you out on the floor to check your breathing? There never was a bigger attention whore, ever. If I faked a coma or a seizure every time I felt neglected, I'd never get up. Deal with it.

Pull yourself together, Nana. Really. What would Jesus say?