Lunch, Soon To Be Dinner, With Mom

Josie and I met my mom for lunch - wait - Josie has an ongoing problem with me still calling everything "my," like my apartment, my dog, etc. She has a valid point. So...

Josie and I met our mom for lunch Saturday (better?). For newer readers, any conversation with mom is usually good for a blog entry , and in twenty years, an ulcer.

While looking over some California pics, mom asked who someone was.
Josie answered, "Oh, that's my friend Elizabeth, from grad school."
"That's a girl!?!?"

Mom also mentioned that we took a lot of pictures of the prison. She stated that when looking at a few pictures like this one...



Umm, mom...that was our hotel.


Then, we got into a discussion somehow about who's the smartest person Josie knows (privately, she says someone else, so I keep asking). When Josie said that I am, mom said, "You know, I've heard that before."
After looking at each other, Josie turned back to my mom and asked, "From who?"
Smiling like Andy Dufresne on that rooftop, mom replied, "I'd rather not say." Like it's been declared classified information by the CIA.

For the nineteenth consecutive year, mom was bemoaning the fact that she's too tired to do Passover dinner at her place. And for the nineteenth consecutive year, I gave her my usual response.
"Don't sweat it. No biggie." But this was the first time Josie was sitting to my left.
"We'll do it at our place!"
"You will?"
"We will?
"Sure."

Aside from the fact that Josie is Christian and has never cooked Passover dinner, I'm still not sure Josie knows what she got herself, ummm, us, into.

Mom just called asking for her phone number.
"Why?"
"I just want to talk to her about the dinner."

This should be interesting.

Rock On,

Aitch