My grandmother, whom we affectionately called “Gigi,” was a force of nature. She was a retired nurse in her late sixties, with wild curly hair, a laugh that could fill a stadium, and, yes, a noticeably voluptuous figure. She was never shy about her body, often joking that she had “enough padding to survive a nuclear winter.” But as a self-conscious fourteen-year-old boy, I was not prepared for what happened when her tiny Honda Civic arrived in our driveway.
Here is a narrative-style article exploring the complexities and warmth of being caught in the middle of a multi-generational family embrace. i was sandwiched between my mothers busty mom