Heavens to Betsy

I work with a superb woman, affectionately known as Grammy Pammy. She isn’t a Grandma by any means and could easily pass for mid-late 30’s rather than her mid-late 40’s. She is a brilliantly hip professional, divorced and remarried mother of two who takes trips to Vegas with her girlfriends and wears sparkly paisley tops while drinking Jamaican rum on the deck of a cruise ship with her hubby. Lunch table conversations are peppered with her tales of growing up on a farm with two sisters and two brothers and drunken escapes in her 20’s (and 30’s…and 40’s). When she gets flustered or starts to bitch about something, or someone, her voice gets high-pitched and her words drag on… “I-I-I-I-I-I-I don’t know what he was thinking.”

So what earns her this matronly nickname? I have kept a Post-It note on my monitor for the past week keeping track of the hilarious phrases that Grammy regularly colors her speech with. These are just a few of the things I had noted as of this morning:

“Heavens to Murgatroid”
“Those damn pot-lickers”
“Dog-on-it”
“Yow-zer”
“Eye-Corumba”
“Well if he’s not a monkey’s uncle”
“Don’t have a conniption”
“You parked all kitty-wompass today”

I adore Pam, to say the least.

We have a game night planned this weekend and I can't wait to hear what comes out of her mouth.