a request to my unborn children

One thing you should know about me is that I love birthdays. I love birthdays! I do! I’m not scared about getting older for that reason. With each birthday comes change and new adventures that I welcome with open arms and a two story vanilla cake. As long as I feel like I’m living my life the way I want to then bring on the wrinkles, and the canes, and the gray hair, and the hearing problems.

I do have one request though; a request mostly aimed directly at my unborn children and my years-away-from-being-born grandchildren: When I’m older and you’ve set time aside to spend a quality afternoon with your favorite grandmapants, for the love of buffets, please refrain from taking me hostage and treating me to Sweet Tomatoes.

I know I’m old(er), I can’t really understand what you’re saying, and probably chew my food a bit awkward, but I hope you understand that I’m still a human being and want to have new experiences. I would rather feel completely out of place at a youthful restaurant than a room full of my energetic peers. If at least for that one day, I want to go somewhere you’d eat if your grandma (I) wasn’t there, somewhere I would never go on my own.

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a fresh and self-made salad from Sweet Tomatoes. I mean, how could you not enjoy unlimited pizza, cornbread and mac & cheese? But I’ll save those outings for my super hip friends in the nursing home, not my sweet, thoughtful, and clever family.

If my memory starts to fail me and I say I’m okay with going to Sweet Tomatoes, (like my great grandmother does with us) kick my cane from under me and show a printed version of this request. I will believe you.

Yes, I know I’m getting way too ahead of myself. You’re probably right.

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