Monday, July 6, 2009

A conversation between me and my mother

Scene: The Grown Up Teenager and She Who Spawned The Grown Up Teenager are gardening. *shudder* The mother decides that a sapling which DARES to grow near her carefully manicured path needs to die--I mean, be cut down, and enlists The Grown Up Teenager to do so. The Grown Up Teenager begins sawing at the (annoying alive, bendy and difficult tree with an apparent will to live) sapling. The Mom folk decides to try to hold it still for the manual labourer also known as her daughter, thus placing her ankle in range of the saw.

Me: Mom, no offense, but I don't want your ankle anywhere near me right now.
Mom: Excuse me?
Me: Saw blade, your ankle, blood, stitches, bad.
Mom: Fair point.
Me: And I don't feel like going to the *insert nearest city here* ER, they're slow.
Mom: Somehow, I have a feeling that if I went with you, I'd get service pretty quickly.
Me: Oh yeah, why's that? Because I have frequent flyer miles and know all the doctors and nurses? Or because I've got a temper that intimidates anyone under 7 feet tall?
Mom: Well....a little of column A...a little of column B...
Me: *smirks, says nothing, continues sawing*

For the record, no one's ankle ended up meeting a saw blade, but the conversation was nevertheless amusing.


Marla said...

Very very amusing. :D