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You know, folks, my nana is amazing. She's been around for a while, seen the world change, and she's trying to keep up with technology. Last week, she called me in a panic, and I'm like, "What's wrong, nana?" She says, "I think my laptop is haunted!" I'm thinking, "Haunted? Nana, that's not a ghost; it's called a software update!" I swear, she treats her laptop like it's possessed. "The cursor moved by itself!" I'm like, "Nana, it's called a mouse. It's not a rodent; it won't bite you!"
But you gotta love her. She's adorable. She asked me, "How do I capture a screenshot?" So I said, "Nana, just press 'Print Screen'." She says, "But the screen didn't print anything!" I can't help but laugh. It's like explaining rocket science to a cat.
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Nana's remedies for everything are legendary. I had a headache, and she says, "Rub some mustard on your temples." Mustard? I'm not a sandwich; I'm not doing that! She has this remedy for colds: "Drink hot tea with honey, lemon, and a splash of brandy." I think she's trying to make me a cocktail. "Nana, I have a cold, not a desire to party!"
But you gotta love her. She's from the generation where they believed in the power of Vicks VapoRub. You were sick; they slapped that stuff on you like it was a cure-all. Got a broken leg? Put some Vicks on it!
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My nana decided to join social media. Bless her heart. She calls me up and goes, "I'm on Instabook now!" Instabook? I think she's mixing up Instagram and Facebook. I imagine a new app: post a picture of your lunch and argue with yourself in the comments. She asked for my advice, saying, "How do I get more friends on this Instabook thing?" I tell her, "Nana, just follow people." She says, "Follow them? What, like a stalker?" No, nana, not a stalker, just a friendly virtual one.
And then she starts commenting on everything. "Sweetie, why did you post a picture of your dinner? Did you forget how to cook?" She's like the social media police, handing out grandma justice. I can't wait for her to discover emojis. "Why did you put a smiling poop on your post? Are you feeling okay, dear?
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Nana's driving scares me half to death. She's got this unique approach to stop signs. She slows down, looks left, looks right, and then waves at the sign. "Hello, Mr. Stop Sign, I see you!" I was in the car with her, and she's driving like it's a Sunday stroll. I'm gripping the door handle like it's a life raft. She says, "Don't worry, sweetie. I've been driving for 50 years." Yeah, but the roads have changed, nana. They have this thing called "fast lanes" now. We're not on a Sunday drive; we're in a NASCAR race!
And the GPS? She treats it like it's a backseat driver. "Turn left in 500 feet." She responds, "I'll turn when I'm ready, thank you very much!" I'm just in the passenger seat, praying we don't end up in the Twilight Zone.
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