My mother can be very amusing when not taken in large amounts, but if you introduce any sort of negative energy in between us it just bounces back and forth and eventually we’re just like an amplifier overloading with feedback and blowing out. But, the inbetween bits are more side-splitting than ear-spitting.
Specifically, there was the two of us sitting on the floor in front of our stereo singing the harmony to “Band on the Run” (even though she’s been a snob about Wings for as long as i can remember) (and, also, us doing the flip-out vocals to “Oh, Darling” later in the car because, yes, we are Paul McCartney addicts), my showing her how to operate the self-checkout lane in Superfresh (and saying “Okay, rolls, *dramatic pause* this is where it gets a little complicated”), watching her trying to coax my cat out from under my bed because he forgets who i am (“It’s Peter, the one who used to squeeze you and chase you and torment you a lot. You remember him, don’t you?” “We’re trying to get him to come out, mom.”), her shocked (and amusing) exclamation of “And exactly how am i supposed to make breaded eggplant parmigiana without eggs?” when i asked if we could have Rabi over to eat something credibly Italian, and especially this introductory exchange:
Peter – [incredulously] When did you get so… blonde?
Mom – [blithely] And your hair is so dark! And curly! Did you dye it?
Peter – [sweetly] Nice to see that you’ve managed to forget what i look like while you were down the shore for two months. Did you at least bring me back some salt water taffy?