My 8 year-old
granddaughter, Zoe, is studying the ancient Egyptians at school. When her
parents went with her eldest brother to watch her younger brother perform in
Macbeth at Watersmeet Theatre in Rickmansworth, I looked after her.
She
had taken books from the library, copied pictures onto the computer and added
several pages of text.
"Would I like to see her project?" she asked, and
smiled enchantingly.
My dainty, curly haired granddaughter then spared me
no details of mummification. I have and extremely weak stomach. At the end of
her gruesome presentation with extra verbal comments she said: "I'm hungry,
grandma, time to have dinner."
Dinner! My stomach heaved. Food! Would I
ever be able to eat again.
I deserve a medal for grandmotherly love.
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