Being Grandpappy

I spent last weekend with the Ohio Cosgriffs, in part to be a grandpappy. Yes, I'm Grandpappy. I chose it because it's different, and vaguely southern. 

Me Granddaughter got a job waitressing at a Bob Evans, so of course I had to go bug her there. Knowing they don't have alcohol, when she asked us what we would like to drink I said, "Bud Light."

"I'm sorry, we don't have beer here."

"Oh. Well, can I see the wine list?"

With a twinkle in her eye and small, wry smile, she asked, "Have you been practicing this?"

I. Love. It. She's adult enough to throw it back at it you in the spirit of the jest. "Of course I have!" I answered.

In the end I asked for coffee, and she kept my cup full the whole meal. Looking over the menu I decided on an entree which came with two sides. When she came to take our orders she dutifully asked what I would like for them. "Fried okra," I began.

"I'm sorry, we don't have fried okra."

I knew that, of course, having looked. Still, I kept on. "How about asparagus tips?"

"Did you practice this too?"

"Nope. This part is entirely ad-libbed." But then I ordered seriously (no point pushing too far as she was working) and tipped her well as grandpas should. And I made it a point to tell her later that I was impressed and proud of her, having seen and heard how well she interacted with other customers. Because grandpas should do that too.