, , , , , , , , , , ,

I went out to brunch with my parents yesterday. This is a conversation that took place (with added footnotes for clarification):

My mom: Your dad (1) and I need to have another will done since state laws have changed. We have to figure out what to do with all of our things.
Me: Easy. Just sell it all. That’s what I’d do with it.
My mom: Noooo. (2)
Me: Yes. I already have too much stuff I’m trying to get rid of. I don’t need yours on top of it.
My mom: But the dogs…. (3)
Me: Dogs aren’t things. But isn’t China the country that likes dogs? I’d give them a call. “Fluffy? No, we no seen Fluffy. That the one with nice juicy hind leg?” (4)
My mom: *displeased moaning noises*

Later, in the car, she told me that I probably was going to go to hell. I told her that was already a done deal.

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have had that Bloody Mary.


(1) My dad, who had been diagnosed with the earliest-stage lung cancer his oncologist had ever seen, is doing great now.
(2) My mom is rather materialistic and thinks I should be as enthusiastic about her things as she is. And I am, as long as it all stays in her house and I don’t have to deal with it.
(3) My parents have two dogs that they treat like children. They love them more than me, their actual, and only, child.
(4) This is from the Whoopee Boys, one of the most depraved, disgusting, fun, and absolutely fucking hilarious movies ever made. If you like Family Guy and South Park, this will be right up your alley. If you don’t, stay away—far, far away.