We are meeting for breakfast.
We are passive-agressiving at each other.
You: "It's great that you are still treating art
as a full time job, even after all these years."
you are my mother and this is the thirty-seventh time you've said that.
Me: "it keeps me busy, way busy. I just thank god
that I decided against having kids."
we let our forks make that squeaking sound on the plate... I know you hate it, and you know that I inherited that trait from you. We have our own mutually assured destruction that goes quite nicely with our own cold war.
You: "I talked to Jenny, that girl you used to date the other day.
Her fiancé's a doctor, you know. I told her you said hi."
Defcon one. There's only so much a man can take.
Me: "I made your mimosa with cheap champagne."
You grab the knife, but only to cut your omelet. For a moment, I saw some white knuckles. That means I win.