I happened to be on the phone with my 87 year old Norwegian Grandmother yesterday evening, and we were discussing of all things, bathhouses.

She went on about how she used to go to them as a young woman during the days of World War II in Norway.  She had also inquired who I went with, and I gave her an ambiguious “with a girl” answer.

She leapt, jumped, juggled, probably did someone’s taxes, and soared to assume that this meant new girlfriend, and asked…

“Oh,  Is she black?” (Totally not the first time she’s asked this very same question.  Here’s the reason why…)

“No Grandma, she’s not black.”

“Oh okay, good.  You know in Norway, they marry black people like crazy over there.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Oh nooo, if they keep mixing them up, then there will be no more black people.”

I’m so glad to see that my 87 year old grandmother is looking out for black people, especially considering it’s Black History Month.