I'm frazzled having spent the best part of two hours trying to juggle appointments then finding out they've replaced one hour long heart stress test with another which means we can do everything locally. Through the swearing and cursing, I hear Ma.
Mother: When you come out of the aneasthetic, your leg's in a big machine, isn't it?
Me: Where in hell did you pull that from?
Me: Why would they do that with your leg when you're having a boob removed?
Mother: Well you did!
Me: I've never had a boob off.
Mother: You had your leg in a big machine when you had the knee replaced.
Me: WTF has that got to do with a boob?
Mother: Wasn't it painful?
Me: Bloody painful and why are we talking about bloody knees?
Mother: Aunt Selma's having her knee done and I want to know how much pain she'll be in so I
can enjoy it.
Me: *Pokes eye out with a ball point.*
I'm in the sewing room, looking at a Mount Everest of lace and material on one side and foothills of ironing on the other. The woman has a mania for keeping cardboard boxes in case they're needed. any size or shape, it doesn't matter. Unfortunately it's hereditary because I can't throw away a pretty shaped glass jar even to sending myself insane trying to get the last of the leatherwood honey out of the tall, square shaped bottle it comes in. My sister skipped this gene and throws everything out including, on one occasion, the phone books and the phone.
Me: Why is the vacuum cleaner standing in a box?
Mother: I put it there.
Mother: It's out of the way.
Me: It's a heavy vac, so you lift it up and put it in an empty box. Why didn't you pick up the box and chuck it out?
Mother: I don't like bending over and the box is handy, the Hoover fits in it nicely.
Me: *bangs head on wall* *repeatedly* *very hard*