A conversation with my Mum in which she hurts my brain

The parents arrive.

A drop in, on a work day.

My Dad looks like he’s been staring in the eye of a typhoon and the typhoon won.  There is barely a breeze.

Me to Dad:          Why do you look so windblown?

Mum:                   We were going to Violet’s and she rang and said she was having Coles Online.  We were going to meet at the club and have morning tea but she couldn’t leave the house so we didn’t go there.  I think she’s depressed.  She needs to be on medication.  Not even going out to get groceries.

You could’ve come, but you were taking the stupid cat to the vet.  How is that cat?  Is it that cat out there?  We rang June instead and we met her at the club.

And I arranged for the lawn to be mowed but your father still went ahead and had the mower fixed.  He said the mechanic was all the way out somewhere, but he wasn’t, he was around the corner from you, so we dropped in.

Me:        Um.

Dad:       Club car park. Hot car.  Window down till the air-conditioning kicked in.

Mum:    Why does she need to know that?

It’s a new definition for the expression—the mind boggles, because mine virtually folded itself in half and I heard it crack.