Me: Yes, mother?
Mum: I didn’t text you, so what does ‘yes, mother’ mean? Mind you, it’s always nice to hear from you.
Me: I had a missed call from you earlier. Was that not you? My phone says it was you, and my phone never lies, mother.
Mum: I didn’t call, and I certainly didn’t call early in the morning. I must have sat on my phone or something.
Me: Have you been murdered? Am I now speaking to the person who killed you after you tried calling me for help? Admit it. You have to tell me if that’s true. Come on, man; don’t be a dick.
Mum: I can’t be a dick, I’m a girl; and also, I’m fairly sure that I’m alive. Maybe it was a call from a parallel world.
Me: But why would they have called me? On purpose, you think; or maybe it was solar interference scrambling the satellite signals. Maybe you were calling me from the future. You can’t disprove that.
Mum: Okay, whatever. I’m busy internet shopping. Don’t make me think, it’s scary.
Me: Yeah, the thought of you thinking does chill me to the bone. Tell your knock-off handbags I said hi.
Mum: Handbags are cheaper than psychiatrists.
Me: In your case, however, they clearly aren’t as effective.
Mum: That’s only because I haven’t found the right one.
Me: Maybe you have, but it didn’t match your shoes, so you left it. If only you’d worn different shoes that day, everything would be different. Why couldn’t you have worn different shoes, mother?
Mum: I guess the other shoes didn’t want to play that day.
Me: And was that really worth the happiness of you and the people around you?
Me: Well I hope you and your shoes will be very happy together.
Mum: We are, thank you. I just caught myself talking out loud to them. Do you think I’ve caught the madness?
Me: You aren’t capable of catching something that you’re the origin of. You’re ‘patient zero’ for whatever insanity you have.
Mum: Whatever. I’m going to go and paint my nails because nobody cares about my feelings.
Me: I don’t think expressing yourself via nail colour is a particularly traditional cry for help.
Mum: If the handbags don’t help, then nail colouring is the next logical step.
Me: Really? Because if my childhood has taught me anything, it’s that most of your ‘steps’ involve alcohol.
Mum: You’re an idiot.
Me: You should see the chick who raised me.