From Turkey Necks to Crooked Ding-Dongs

Skippy Reed (a.k.a our grandmother) is hysterical.  First of all, she actually wants and encourages her great grandchildren to call her Granny.  I don't know about you, but when I hear the word Granny, I think of that old Granny Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies (and Granny Smith pies and Granny Smith apples). Secondly, if you met her you would totally assume she was your typical knit and crochet-loving grandma (because she is).  She quite frequently tells me how happy she is that at least someone in the family ended up like her (likes to knit, cook, bake, do basic womanly jobs from the '50s).  That's really where our similarities end.  Okay, not really.  As my sister mentioned in her previous post, Skippy also loves turtlenecks.  I hide my giraffe neck; she hides her turkey neck.  We also both can talk about crooked schlongs without blushing.  Seriously.  When I found out I was pregnant with Noah, my grandma was hoping for a girl.  Needless to say, when the ultrasound pic came back very definitely a boy, Skippy told me I better tell Andy to have his crooked twinkie fixed.  Apparently, crooked penises (penii? penes? - oddly I am unsure the plural form of penis) produce sons.  When I found out I was pregnant with Jonah, she definitely asked if Andy's kinky winky was straightened out yet because she was really ready for another angel in the family.  Lo and behold, the ultra sound pic came back yet again very definitely a male with his own little teenie weenie.  Clearly, I didn't fix Andy's twisted tally-whacker. 

My dad said he'd post a pic of the Skip, but since he hasn't, here she is:   

Gotta love her!