I will start by saying I do love my nanny and papa, truly. I have tried to be the nice granddaughter and respect their views, political and religious. I have kept my points of view to myself because we differ so much. I know when to use manners, say thank you and please. I know to smile and laugh at the proper times during stories and jokes. I know when to groan in appreciation for something that happened, and so on. I love my nanny and papa. This is, however, the first time leaving them that I did not feel sad, or that I would miss them terribly.
Here is a bit from my last interrogation with my nanny:
“I’m gonna ask you a question. It’s personal and you may not like it, but I’m gonna
ask it anyway. Why did you get tattoos and why did you get more?”
“I’m gonna ask you another one, which might make you leave right now. What does God think of your tattoos?”
“Did you ask him?”
“Well, I’m gonna ask him. That and I’m gonna ask Peter why he took his eyes off Jesus. If he, who was so close to Jesus, turned his eyes away, then what chance do we people have?”
So, my tattoos rank right up there with Peter. From this conversation I gathered that I am going to hell because I have tattoos. For those of you with tattoos, please join me in hell. I will sitting in a sauna and drinking margaritas!
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