My mother as I walked out of her house yesterday to drive somewhere in her car:
“Do you have your license on you?”
I nod and ignore the impulse to sarcastically point out I’m 46.
“Can you drive in those heels?”
I nod and ignore the impulse to sarcastically point out I’m 46.
Then, as I’m getting ready to back out of the driveway, the garage door opens and she appears:
“There’s a mixed tape on the passenger seat I thought you’d like.”
Now that’s love.
