My Grandmother emails me.

Usually every other day, but occasionally we'll exchange quips back and forth throughout the day if I'm planning a visit in the near future, or more so now with her live-in daughter away on vacation.

Grandma turns 90 on October 1st. 90! This is awesome for many reason:

1. She is three times as old as I am, and perhaps 10 times as forward thinking. While she remains a voting Conservative (I won't hold that against her...) she's more liberal than I am and has no problems telling you/me/the postman what she thinks about a situation. In fact, she's always proclaimed "LL, you can be Catholic, and you can be Liberal... but I won't abide an Argo's fan" (you can take the Rough Riders out of Ottawa but you can't take the Ottawa Rough Riders out of the girl...)
2. Think of the changes she's seen in her life time, would ya? She has memories of being pulled in a horse drawn sleigh with bear skin blankets, and now we're talking touch-down landings on Mars. Amidst all of that she stays current through the CBC (*eye roll*), the newspaper magnified on her crazy CNIB machine, and an active letter writing campaign to admonish bad customer service (she refers to these letters as the "angry housewife strikes again!"
3. She's completely self-sufficient, makes a mean chicken enchilada, has read and remembers the plot lines for more books thank I can imagine, "scoots" up to the mall to buy breaded shrimp for dinner and visit Dollerama ("It's ruined me for every other store, LL!"), and forwards jokes like they're going out of style.

Recently I emailed to ask after her lunch date with one of her besty's, Peggy. Peggy lives a few blocks over with her son and his Newfoundland Retriever, Kiwi. I gather from past conversations with Grandma that Peggy is a neat freak (a trait Grandma can't really get behind... *shifty eyes*), and works herself to the bone cleaning up after Kiwi, the dog.

"Peggy had to cancel," she reported. "She's been unwell for a few days, down with back pain. Although somehow she still found time to clean up after the dog. What a sl*t!"

*jaw drops*
*shock*

I did a quick double take and re-read the email to see if I'd missed something. Nope. That's right. My Grandmother just referred to her best friend as a "slut". I had to pull an Inigo Montoya and tell her "I do not think that means what you think it means..." While I get that in the 50's a sl*t might be someone slovenly, today's meaning has an entirely different connotation and one Peggy probably wouldn't take kindly to.

Hey Premier McGuinty! Hear this: my Grandma might oppose regulated mixed martial arts in Ontario (and is probably formatting a letter against it as we speak...) but damn hooker! Don't even think about cancelling lunch with her! Or else!

What a hoot.