The road to Hell is paved with big intentions

Mom was out of town and I offered to take Grandma clothes shopping with me one afternoon. This had two benefits: it helped out Mom by getting Granny out of the old folks' home for an afternoon, and I got to drive Mom's awesome SUV for the day (Grandma's wheelchair doesn't fit in my car. It's weird calling it 'Grandma's Wheelchair', considering it used to be mine. That is one belonging I'm glad to relenquish.)

I pick up Grandma, get her loaded into the chair, and listen to her fret about how I"m ever going to lift such a heavy wheelchair into the back of Mom's car.

"It's okay! I've got it," I said, shooing her back to the passenger's seat. "Sit down, Grandma. You'll fall."

I loaded the chair and got behind the steering wheel.

"Turn off the air conditioning. It's cold in here."

I sighed as I looked out the window at the 95 degree heat beating the landscaping into submission.

At the mall, I unloaded the chair. One must do this quickly, before Grandma decides to "help" and try to meet the chair halfway between the passenger seat and the trunk. This is much less burdensome for the chair driver, you see.

I beat her to it, and plopped her into the chair. We wheeled into Macy's, who had apparently not gotten Grandma's memo that air conditioning has no place in midsummer weather.

As we browsed the racks, Grandma leans back in the chair and asks me, "So, what size of clothing are you looking for?"

Kind of a weird question. As if one goes to the grocery store just to get "food."

"Well, um, I'm looking for nice clothes that I can wear to New York City to pitch my book. Sizes ten, twelve-ish."

"Ten or twelve?" She cranes her neck to try to look at me, but only succeeds in resembling the thing from "The Exorcist."

"HOW'D YOU GET TO BE SO BIG?!"