Grand Opening 1

It was the day my grandmother exploded. And yet, surprisingly, it was not the explosion itself, nor even the way her liver hit the ceiling and stuck, hanging over the mashed potatoes like the sword of Damocles leaking blood like pan drippings from a rare rump roast that made the day memorable to me. Nor was it the fact that all of the potatoes got eaten anyway (more as a tribute to grandma, who had prepared them, than as a testament to their flavor, which was a bit more salty and coppery than...