"Does your husband really need to keep a security camera in our bedroom?"
"Um," Struggling to keep a straight face, I wipe my hands on a dish towel and then give Mom my full attention. "What are you talking about?"
Exasperated, she points at the ceiling. "Your husband installed a security camera in our bedroom."
Okay, I can't help it, I grin.
"So, Mom, what makes you think you saw a camera?" This is one of our better conversations and I'm eager to hear more.
"The blinking light." Her eyes narrow. "You know, the blinking light on the ceiling."
Um, and then I get it. "Oh, the smoke detector."
Mom plants her hands on her hips. "No ..."
Her voice trails off as I head down the hall. After a moment, she follows and then we're standing next to her bed, looking at the ceiling. Side by side, we pause, look at each other and then up again.
"So," say's Mom, "let's go to lunch."
Now my Mother is highly intelligent, but from time to time the brain takes a walk on the dark side, and being the supportive family members that we are, we laugh. Of course that same brain-mouth disconnect has spread to her offspring. We call it MomSpeak.
And no one does MomSpeak as well as her clone, The Brat, at two in the morning ...
"Yeah?" I mumble, sorry I've answered the phone
"I've been drinking, I need a ride."
After a moment of angry silence, I ask. "Where are you?"
"I'm here." Click.