AllFreeNovel
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“Then it is, undoubtedly, a dreadful idea. Nothing on the Internet is a good idea.”
She eyed me. “Didn’t you make a pasta recipe you saw on the Internet?”
“I have no idea how you can compare a pasta recipe to putting pool noodles on your male goats’ horns.”
“You saw your recipe on the Internet and thought it was a good idea. I saw this on the Internet and think it’s a good idea. The principle is the same.” She held out a pink pool noodle. “Cut this.”
“You have the scissors, Grandma.”
She handed them to me and stretched the pool noodle out once more. “Cut that in half, would you?”
I did as she asked and watched her hold one half of the noodle up against one of Goatzart’s horns.
I still couldn’t believe she’d called one of these goatsGoatzart.
Between that and the pool noodles, I really needed to restrict her Internet access before MI6 showed up.
“Take three inches off. It’s a bit long.”
Said no man, ever.
I snipped the pool noodle.
“I said three inches, Max. That means three actual inches. Not a man’s three inches.”
I sighed.
Still, I cut it again.
“Thank you.” She took the noodle and slid it over Goatzart’s left horn. “There. Perfect.”
“Yes, it’s lovely. Pink is really his colour,” I said, eyeing the white goat. “But you have yet to explain why you’re adorning the goats with swimming aids for children.”
“It’s obvious, is it not?”
“If it were obvious, don’t you think I’d have guessed it?”
“Maximillian, I don’t like your attitude.”
“I don’t have an attitude, Grandmother.”
She turned and waved half a pool noodle at me. “Grandmother? That’s an attitude there, boyo. Cut it out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better. Just because Ellie handed you your arse in a gift-wrapped package doesn’t give you the right to snipe at me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know we had a disagreement?”
“One, I know everything.” Grandma slid the other half of the trimmed noodle on Goatzart’s other horn. “Second, it wasn’t a disagreement. It was you being rude after an acceptable apology and then being shocked when she called you on your bullshit.”
“Please don’t use that language.”
“I’ll use whatever language I like. Would you prefer I swore at you in French? Perhaps Italian? I’m sure I can search my brain for it. It’s been a while, so it might come out Greek.”
Jesus. Did she have a dictionary of foreign swearwords stored in some obscure part of her brain?
“I’d prefer you didn’t swear at all,” I replied honestly.
