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.
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.
"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.