My grandmother, the klepto
I think I've briefly mentioned my Omi before...my mom's mom.
I'm not entirely sure how to describe her other than to say she was your typical German grandmother.
Well, I guess she wasn't really typical at all. For one, most grandmothers are awesome in the kitchen. My dad's mom? A top notch chef who could whip up a five course meal out of a sack of flour and some butter.
Omi... not so much. Her idea of gourmet cooking consisted of hot dogs mixed into a variety of other foods. If it had a hot dog in it, it was good enough to consume.
Another one of her interesting traits came about whenever we would be out eating somewhere. Let me preface this by saying "somewhere" could anywhere from a restaurant to my cousin's wedding reception.
Omi had this obsession.
She liked to collect things, like salt and pepper shakers.
Except...instead of swiping it herself, she'd make someone else do it, like my mom. She'd carelessly pick up whatever pretty, shiny thing she coveted and would look at my mom all, "Put these in your purse!"
Uh...why should I enable your klepto habit? You take them.
But being the stubborn, devout Catholic woman she was, there was no way in hell she was taking anything from anywhere. God would surely strike her down on the spot if He knew she had stolen silverware or a set of shakers.
My mom was her loophole.
I was never really privy to this habit of hers until one of my cousins got married and my family made the trip to Florida to attend the ceremony. My brother and I were seated at a table with Omi, along with my mom.
About halfway through the reception, I see Omi eyeing the silverware on the table.
The silverware that belonged to the reception site.
The silverware SHE HAD TO OWN.
I guess this particular day was a day God had off because before I know it, Omi is shoveling silverware into her oversized purse, glancing over at me, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, "Give me your spoon!"
I stared at her, jaw on the floor, as I obediently handed over my dessert utensil.
My brother followed suit.
As we were leaving the reception, my brother and I couldn't help but laugh hysterically as Omi walked out, head held high, handbag clanking away with her loot as it swayed from side to side.
She whipped around, glaring at us and seething through her teeth, "Shhh! You're giving us away!"
Whoa. Hold on just a second, here. Us?!
From that moment on, I vowed to never be a silverware - or any other kind - of thief.
Except...the other day...I noticed this dirty laundry bag I had swiped from a hotel room a few years back. And then I remembered the shoe bag I stole from another hotel...
I'm turning into Omi.