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high squeal and then a giggle.  We follow the sound down the hall to the kitchen and are both brought up short at the sight of my grandmother in pink and black hot-pants (which are basically spandex) with a matching tank top slicked over her torso.  She has pink kitten heals on her feet and is currently swiveling her non-existent hips in what is surely meant to be a salsa like dance.  I’m struck with twin urges to scream and laugh.  One look at Tripp’s pale face and bulging eyes does the trick.  My laughter bursts out, then so does Tripp’s and I’m not entirely sure there isn’t a horrified sob or two mingled in with it.
                  I recover first.
    “Hey, G, hot date tonight?”
                  Gracie squeals again as she sees us and I go immediately to her tray as G saunters across the kitchen to turn down the music that’s blaring out of the television.
                  “Rae Rae and Tripp.  Oh my goodness, how’s my handsome man?”
                  I smile again as G throws herself into Tripp’s arms and he has no other choice than to catch her and hold on.  The way she’s pressed up against him is less than appropriate, but her appreciation for men doesn’t see age or rules—it only sees beauty.  (Especially beauty that comes in the form of broad shoulders and a tall frame.)
                  Tripp has been the recipient of many affectionate hugs from G, and still, his face turns pink and he throws me a look of absolute terror as she starts to wiggle against him, prodding at him to move his feet and dance with her.
                  Although I find the picture amusing, as there’s always going to be a part of me that enjoys seeing Tripp suffer even just a tiny bit, I take pity on him and bring Gracie over, where she promptly reaches for him, her almost-words babbling out and over, making no sense except to convey her joy at seeing him.
                  Throwing herself at him, just like her mama.  Only he gladly takes Gracie into his arms and begins tickling her.  The part of me that always wishes she was his aches at the sight of them, and then I remember that it’s okay that she’s mine alone because Tripp has a future he needs to get to.
                  “So, I assume the outfit is because you’re going out with Walter?” I ask G as I start to pick up toys that are strewn over every surface possible.
                  She waggles her eyebrows.  “He said he likes my curves so I thought I’d surprise him. What do you think?”
                  She wiggles those nonexistent hips again and does a shimmy that has other parts moving like a pendulum. I hear Tripp suck in a breath before turning his back and letting Gracie pull him in the other direction to show off her treasures.  My own sense of decency is warring with my love for her.  Note to self: when boobs start hanging down to places south of the belly button, wear loose fitting clothing and a compression bra at all times so as to not scare away grandchildren and unsuspecting best friends.
                  “Bright,” is all I can come up with and continue picking up toys.
                  She cackles out a laugh and bends down to help me.  I’m secretly glad I’m turned away from her so I don’t have to see the lycra stretch over those unwanted areas.
                  “Hey, G, can you watch Gracie Saturday night?” I ask as I pack Gracie’s blanket and Lovey into her bag. 
                  Tripp enters the room again, his eyes fixed firmly on Gracie and I smirk. Coward.
                  “Hot date?” G asks and I grin.
                  “A date, at least.”  If Richie is anything like Doug, hot isn’t the adjective I would use to describe him. Homely, unmotivated, wannabe gangster.  Christ, maybe I should have G ask Walter if he has a