"You're the worst kind" --Harry, to Sally

A line was formed at the Daily family microwave this evening. I was heating up my chipped beef leftovers, and Mom came up behind me to wait her turn in order to

heat up her Klondike bar.

I repeat.

Heat up her Klondike bar.

Really, Mom? Yes, really. I had no words, my facial response was enough, and she giggled and said, "My, I do have a lot of rules, don't I?" and I said "Mmm Hmm" (as I hoped she would not catch me using the plastic lid in the microwave rather than her standard paper-plate-as-lid. Even though! the plastic lid is microwave safe and intended for microwave use, and a paper plate kills Mother Earth. But whatever...).

Then Mom said that she thinks she's getting "worse" with all of her "rules," and I explained that it's actually pretty normal for people to get more high maintenance as they get older, from what I've observed.

As I was leaving the house later to watch TV at Mike's, I said "Mom, if it makes you feel better, I think I'm getting more high maintenance too." And then she said, "Yeah, we'll talk about that later..."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" I retorted.
Mom laughed.
"Little Miss heats up her Klondike bar in the microwave..." I added, due to her undue sass.

And then, without so much as a pause, dear old Dad chimes in with, "Little Miss must have a pen in the door handle of her car at all times..."

Mom: "Well now you're both picking on me!"
Me: "I love you..."
Mom: "I love you..."

And then I left for Mike's.