Maybe she was friends with Ethel the Cackling Lizard Granny. Maybe there was a big network of Lizard Grannies who got together on Friday nights to party. Maybe they were the Mafia. I could just picture Cackling Lizard Granny in her pink floral dress, leaning back behind a big mahogany desk and steepling her big lizard claws together as she stared down a meekly cowering gargoyle or incubus, calmly threatening them for asking for a favour from the Lizard Granny Mafia on the day of her lizard daughter’s lizard wedding or something.
