Monday, March 26, 2012

Parents, Mine

I call my mother every Sunday night.  This is increasingly depressing as she is decreasingly coherent with the winding by of years.  Every once in a while there's a gem of an anecdote from her housebound life though.

For instance this account of my parents at the breakfast table:

Mother [after watching a small spider crawl up her arm for several minutes, to my father]:  "Look!  Isn't this spider just perfect?"
Father: "Yes, I know.  It fell off your head."

No comments:

Post a Comment