Earlier this morning, I picked out a plum from the fridge, and I held it up and said, “Mom, my plum is happy.”
This, of course, brought a strange look and the inevitable question “Why?”
“Because it is going to die in an honorable manner.”
“I see.” (I don’t think she did though.)
After messing around with the plum for a bit, she said, “There’s still a sticker on it.”
“Disgrace! You are a disgrace to the Fatherland.” I looked up to see raised eyebrows.
“It’s a German plum.”
“I see.” (Again, I don’t think she did.)
Now I was mumbling to myself and the plum. “You let them put a sticker on your butt without a word of protest!”
My mom starting giggling – actually giggling. That was a sight to see. She doesn’t often do that. Then she told me to pick the disgraceful sticker up off the floor. I ate the plum after that.