I love everything about my Grandma. Well, almost everything. The truth is—

The truth is what, Ruffie?

Oh! Grandma! You...surprised me. Uh...what are you doing on my blog?!

You don't want your own grandmother on your blob? What kind of grandson would kick his own grandmother off his blob?

Uh, that's blog, and of course I want you on my blog, it's just that—

Just what.

I...uh...

Grandma's waiting, dear.

Well, for starters, I didn't know you knew how to work a computer, and here you are hacking into my blog.

Believe me, knitting you that nice sweater you never wear was a lot harder than cracking your blob's security. Anyway, don't mind me. I'll be quiet as you tell the world the things you don't love about your Grandma.

Oh don't be silly, Grandma—all I was going to say was...uh...that the only thing I don't love about you is that you...uh...live so far away. Otherwise you're perfect.

I could move closer.

Oh. Well, that sounds like a lot of trouble for you.

It's no trouble at all.

Oh.

After all, you should spend more time with me, now that your poor Grandma has triskaidekaphobia.

What?! That sounds awful! Why didn't you tell me before!?

I didn't want to be a bother.

Oh Grandma! I'll come right over with some chicken soup and...waitaminute...I've just looked up "triskaidekaphobia" in the dictionary. It says "Fear of the number 13."

That's right, dear.

But you've had that for years! Remember? Your birthday? When we went on that roller coaster twelve times and I wanted to go again but you wouldn't let me?

That's because you got sick.

Oh yeah.

So are you coming over? Or are you going to spend more time blobbing on your wet suit?

That's blogging on my web site, and...and oh never mind. I'll be right over.

Always fascinating, always entertaining, always…