I arrive early in the morning. My grandparents are all over me.
“My baby”, says Grandma.
“I’m twenty-two”, I say.
“Let me take your bags,” says Grandpa.
“They’re heavy,” I say. “I’ll take them in myself.”
“Let me give you a bath,” says Grandma.
“I’m twenty-two,” I say.
“Let me cut you some apples,” says Grandpa.
I wake up late. I’m bored.
“Can I help mop the floor?” I ask.
“No,” says Grandma.
“Can I help wash the dishes?” I ask.
“No,” says Grandpa.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask.
“Why don’t you just sit over there on the comfy chair? I’ll bring you some apples.”
I sit all day.
I wake up at noon. I’m bored.
“I’ll wash my clothes,” I say.
“I’ll do it for you,” says Grandma.
“I’ll go buy some snacks,” I say.
“I’ll do it for you,” says Grandpa.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
I lie in bed all day. I get up once to sit on the comfy chair. I accidentally raise my arms while stretching. A plate of apples mysteriously materialize in my hands.
I wave my hand. A plate of apples appear in five minutes. “You’re two minutes late,” I say.
“I want my apples cut into Mickey Mouse shapes,” I say.
They cut my apples in the shape of rats.
“What’s this supposed to be?” I demand.
“We don’t know what Mickey Mouse is,” they say.
I throw a hissy fit.
I’m invalid. I am paralyzed from the waist down. I am confined to the comfy chair.
I demand to be called King of the Seven Kingdoms and Lord of the Seven Seas. With one wave of my hand a plate of apples appear in the shape of assorted Disney characters, and with another my Grandparents chant my name while sacrificing a goat. Slouched on my comfy throne, I am the omnipotent waste that sees all and knows none.
I love my grandparents.