Today’s Actual Conversation: Happy Mother’s Day!

And she wonders why I blog about her.

Happy Mother’s Day, mama. Thank you for this conversation.
Scene: Kitchen. Dad is “making breakfast”, which translates to destroying the kitchen like a whirling dervish, using every single pan, plate, and utensil, and almost setting the kitchen ablaze. Mom and I look on in horror. Over the din of crashing flatware, this conversation arises.

Mom: We’re supposed to use…chee-a-bata? Cee-a-a bata bread?
Me: Ciabatta.
Mom: C-eye-a-bata? Cia-Obama?
Me: (head in hands) Ciabatta.
Mom: Cymbalta?
Me: That’s an antidepressant. Ciabatta. It’s Italian.
Mom: Chewy-bacca?
Me: That’s a Wookie. CIABATTA. CIABATTA. CIABATTA.
Mom: (triumphant) It’s like Star Wars bread!
Me: Mom, why don’t you sit down before you hurt yourself.


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