She's 92. I love her. And not only because of conversations like this:
Her: I was making a double batch of bread dough so I could make rolls too. I was trying to end up with rolls about the size of Big Mac buns. But usually I make smaller ones. I kept trying to pinch it off, but it wasn't working.
On the fourth go-round of "I was trying to pinch one off," I lost it. I'm a bad, terrible granddaughter.