When I was very small, three or four, my great grandma, Nanna A, was someone we visited whenever we could. She was probably about seventy something, grandma, Nanna J, must have been about, oh, fiftysomething - or they might have been younger... I was only a little tacker, mum was in her twenties.
Nanna A had the best garden. She had figs (I love fresh figs), she had carnations (I love carnations, the scented ones!), she had a big, square cut topiarised tree in her front yard in Wiley Park. I usually visited with Nanna J in the afternoon for afternoon tea and Mum would come home from school and pick us up from there.
Nanna A was lovely, she was cuddly. But I hated kissing her good bye.
Nanna A had whiskers. Yuk. I thought that was the worsest thing that could happen. I dreaded getting whiskers. Nanna's don't have whiskers... no way!
I'm 52 this year. It might very well be karma. I never uttered the words of the Billy Goat Gruff, "Not by the hair on my...". Ever.
If you think your hormones are wonky when you're a teenager, just wait until you're hitting menopause!
(The other Nannas didn't have hairy chins, and Mum doesn't. Sux to that!)