Actual conversations between my mother and myself, today in the car:

Me (reading comics page): What the hell? Why is Cathy on vacation with Irving?

My mother: They’re back together now. He’s a new man, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with him.

Me: How is he a new man?

My mother: Well, he’s all sensitive like she wanted him to be, and he’s very into being fit, and he worries about his weight now too, so he commiserates with her.

Me: Ohhh… so she’s his hag.

—

Me: That girl didn’t know jackshit about giving directions.

My mother: I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.

Me: Sorry. That girl didn’t know shit about giving directions.

—

My mother (pulling loaded car into parking lot): Let’s ask this parking attendant boy if we can park in this lot.

Panicky, acne-ridden 18 year old boy in safety orange vest (frantically waving arms): You can’t park here!

My mother (rolling down her window): Could you tell us where we can park to unload?

Panicky, acne-ridden 18 year old boy in safety orange vest: Ma’am, you can’t park here!

My mother: Uh, okay.

(Drives ahead to turn around and exit lot)

Panicky, acne-ridden 18 year old boy in safety orange vest (screaming from across parking lot): Ma’am! You cannot park here!

My mother: We should circle around and pull up again like we didn’t understand, just to see what he does.

Me: Only this time, roll down your window, motion him over, and then ask, “Hey, are you a VIRGIN?”

My mother: Well, clearly.