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My 78-year-old grandma got an Amazon Alexa for Christmas from my tech-obsessed cousin who thought it would help her feel more connected to the family. We spent Christmas morning trying to teach her how to use it, but she kept yelling at it like it was a deaf neighbor from across the street.

"LEXI, TURN ON THE LIGHTS!" she'd scream from three rooms away, then get frustrated when nothing happened. We kept explaining that she needed to be closer and use the wake word "Alexa," but she was convinced the device was just hard of hearing.

"In my day, when someone didn't respond, you talked louder," she'd say, then proceed to shout "LEXI, WHAT'S THE WEATHER?" at maximum volume.

For weeks, we thought she'd given up on it entirely. She'd mention that "Lexi was being moody again" or that "that little robot doesn't like me very much," but we figured she'd just stopped trying to use it.

Last week, she called me absolutely ecstatic about finally understanding how the internet works. She was so proud of herself, talking about how she'd "figured out the computer" and had been "shopping online like the young people do."

I thought she'd somehow learned to use her iPad or maybe figured out how to browse Amazon on her ancient laptop. Nope.

Turns out, she'd discovered my Amazon wedding registry that I'd shared with the family months ago. But instead of just looking at it like a normal person, she'd spent the past two weeks having full, detailed conversations with Alexa about every single item on the list.

My cousin, who set up the Alexa account, started getting weird notifications about unusual activity and decided to check the voice recordings. What we found was absolutely hilarious.

She'd been treating Alexa like her personal shopping consultant and wedding planner rolled into one:

"Lexi, why would Sarah and Mike need a toaster that costs $180? Their mother has a perfectly good one from 1975 that still works fine. This generation just wastes money."

"Lexi, add those blue dinner plates to the cart. No, the blue ones, not the white ones. The BLUE ones—oh for crying out loud, just add both colors so they have options."

"Lexi, what in God's name is a pasta maker? In my day, we made pasta with our hands and a rolling pin like civilized people. Fine, add that contraption too. Maybe they'll learn something."

But here's where it gets crazy—she wasn't just discussing the items. She'd accidentally been ordering everything she talked about because she kept saying "add it" during her conversations.

By the time we figured out what was happening, she'd ordered 47 different items from my registry, including three identical toasters because she kept arguing with "Lexi" about which color would look best in our kitchen.

The recordings got even better. She'd started rating items like she was some kind of professional product reviewer:

"Lexi, that coffee maker looks complicated and probably breaks easily. I give it a 6 out of 10, but add it anyway. They're young and stubborn—they'll have to learn the hard way."

"Lexi, those fancy wine glasses are too delicate. What happens when they have children? But I suppose they're pretty. 7 out of 10, add two sets."

"Lexi, a $300 blender? Highway robbery! But Sarah's always been particular about her smoothies. 4 out of 10 for the price, 8 out of 10 for making my granddaughter happy. Add it."

The absolute best part was when she started getting philosophical with Alexa about marriage and life advice:

"Lexi, marriage is about compromise. That's why they need two sets of sheets—his and hers. Trust me, I've been married 52 years."

"Lexi, a good cast iron pan lasts forever. Unlike husbands, but don't tell Sarah I said that."

Amazon's customer service actually called us, concerned about potential fraud. They'd flagged the account because someone had made 47 purchases totaling over $3,000 between 2 AM and 4 AM over the course of several nights.

I had to explain to a very confused customer service representative that no, this wasn't fraud—my 78-year-old grandmother really did order three toasters, two coffee makers, and a pasta machine at 3:00 AM while having heated arguments with Alexa about modern kitchen appliances.

The customer service guy was silent for a long moment, then said, "Ma'am, in 15 years of doing this job, that's definitely a first."

We had to return most of the items, but grandma insisted we keep one of the toasters because "Lexi was very adamant that the stainless steel one was the best choice."