My Mum is going in for a minor knee surgery tomorrow, and she’s not sure how much she’ll be able to do after so she’s been busy all day doing as much random stuff as she can. Dad and I joked, “Mum, we’ll be here to help, and you’re not going to die, silly.”
Mum smirks and looks down at her plate. “I hope I don’t die. I mean, I like stroganoff, but I don’t want it to be my last meal.”
We snicker and talk about last meals, and I said, “Mummy, if you were ever very, very sick, I’d make you Bird’s Custard with raspberries.” (This is something Mum loves and makes for herself only a few times a year.)
Mum: “Wait, so if you suddenly make me custard, does that mean I should be worried that I’m dying?”
Me: *affected old lady voice* “‘So dear, what did my doctor say?’ ‘Oh nothing Mum, just eat your custard.'”
Mum and I laughed hysterically and Dad muttered something about needing help because we’re nuts.
Our dinner conversations are weird.