“Peel those potatoes for me, dear,” Grandma said.
“Fine Grandma,” Corretta grabbed the peeler and a bowl of potatoes. “The weathers been funny lately,” she commented absently as she peeled.
“Mm-hm,” Grandma nodded, not looking away from the meteorologist who was rambling on about low and high pressure systems.
“Grandma, how long have you had these potatoes?” Corretta asked, wincing away from a spud that was sprouting an odd green mold.
“Oh, I don’t know, hun. Could you please be quiet, William is trying to explain the storm system,” Grandma sent Corretta an annoyed glance.
“He’s not being disturbed by moldy taters, Grandma!” Corretta complained.
“Fine, give them to me! You teenagers need to learn to work, you know,” Grandma grumbled. Seeing the beastly growths on the potatoes she looked at Corretta. “Why didn’t you tell me about that, hun?” she asked.
“I did tell you.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, Matt, one minute clear skies, next minute this,” William gestured to his weather chart.