After my mother left me a bizarro phone message (accusing me of not picking up because I “knew it was her”), I thought I’d better call her to see what was up.
Me: Hey, it’s me.
Mother: I’m surprised you remembered my phone number.
Me: It was on the internet in Paris Hilton’s address book.
Me: I was in the shower when you called, that’s why I didn’t answer the phone.
Mother: I wanted to tell you that I’m getting rid of Dad’s recliner, so it’s in the garage whenever you want to come get it.
Me: I don’t want Dad’s recliner.
Mother: It’s nice.
Me: I know.
Mother: It reclines.
Me: I know.
Mother: I’ll just leave it for you in the garage. You’d better drive a truck when you come for it.
Me: I’m not taking the recliner.
Mother: Why don’t you want anything of mine?
Me: Mother, I think I’m old enough to buy my own furniture, rather than decorate my house with cast off items from relatives.
Mother: So, you’re going to buy a new recliner?
Mother: Because you could save money if you’d take this one.
Me: If I’d wanted a recliner, I would have already purchased one.
Mother: Mr. Capp has a recliner.
Me: Yes, he does.
Mother: If you take this one, then you’d have one for yourself.
Me: I don’t want your recliner, anyone else’s recliner, or a new recliner, but thanks for the offer.
Mother: Why don’t you ever call me anymore?