the years of living dangerously

As N drove the Daddy’s car home from the local wholesale club, the following conversation could be overheard in my vehicle.






S: Mom is really aging ten years for every birthday.

J: So she is really 410 years old.

Me: And I don’t look a day over 399.

S: I thought you were 800, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

M: We should take you to the Antiques Roadshow.

Me: I probably wouldn’t be worth very much.

J: But you’re old. And everything old goes to the Antiques Roadshow.

S: And don’t worry, I wouldn’t sell you (under his breath) for less than $300.

Me: Yeah, I’d like to see you find someone to do all of your laundry and cooking for that, even if I have been slacking lately.

M: Mom’s a slacker.

T: I’d never sell mom. She’s MY mom!

J: But we could get a Wii.

R, respectfully, remained silent during this exchange. After all, we of the double X club need to stick together.