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Grandparents are most excellent. They feed you. They brag about you. They slip money into your purse when they know you really need it, and you're too ashamed to beg. They're the best friend you didn't have to ask for, and they ask for nothing in return.

And although they may be of the traditional variety, they might wear tracksuits and Reeboks six days a week, drink Metamucil, vote conservative, and think that wiping schmotz off my face with a wet thumb in public is a mitzvah - who says that they're in any way behind the times?

Recently, my grandparents have added a new book to their list of favourites. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, anything in the "Chicken Soup for The Soul" series, and now, Facebook.

Yes, Facebook. And like the hamisha homshey torah, they use Facebook to teach me valuable life lessons. Of course, they have instilled a firm set of principles to which I happily adhere. I don't kill. I don't cheat. I don't covet my neighbour's wife (often). And now, thanks to the Good Book, Facebook, I do not give my number out online. Her answer might seem quick and crass, but that's just her way. That, and it isn't easy to type with long nails and loads of flea market bling.

You might think it odd that my Bubbie has a Facebook account. At first, I would have agreed. No grandmother should ever be privy to pictures of her living legacy lapping up liquor, with one nipple hanging out, a cigarette in the left while playfully giving the finger with the right. Luckily, I don't go to University of Western Ontario – so pictures of that nature won’t ever exist.

Facebook actually comes in quite handy for us as she spends the winter playing mah-jong with the Freemans, Glickmans, Schickmans and Steins in Florida, whilst I freeze said nipples off in Toronto.

You should add her. Seriously. She is presently looking for "random play", and she's just about the best lady I know.