Grandma's first six-pack

When you are a seven-year-old boy and it is your Grandma Swanson's birthday, you bemoan the fact that your mother is not the crafty sort, that she does not have Popsicle sticks carefully tucked away in a cabinet, that she is ruining your dream of building a frame from the said sticks and dressing it with a photo of a handsome boy: yourself. In an effort to rectify the brewing birthday fiasco, you wander into the belly of the beast, otherwise known as your father's workroom, and emerge triumphant, carrying an empty six-pack beer container whose contents your parents heartily consumed the prior weekend. You will locate a very handsome photo of yourself posing next to one humongous Clifford the Red Dog and his companion Emily Elizabeth and will be content to merely tape the photo onto the Fat Tire container. You will demand that your grandmother shut tight her eyes as you stealthily slip her gift that is "helpful for holding things" into her lap. When she opens her eyes, she will be delighted with your gift. Your grandmother will adamantly declare that your gift, your clever creation, is the best birthday present she has ever received. Your mother will laugh knowing that in the 82 years her mother has been alive on this earth, she has certainly never received any kind of beer container, empty or full, for a gift. And you will be one pleasantly gratified seven-year-old boy.