My mum's in hospital at the moment, which isn't remotely where mum's are supposed to be. They're supposed to be indestructable, like the Terminator, but with a more nagging quality. Looks like (fingers crossed, touch wood) she'll be out soon, but in the meantime I'm taking my dad over as often as possible to keep her spirits up through conversations like this one:
Dad: You know that optician you like? Dead. Cancer. And he was only sixty-one.
Mum: OH FOR GOD'S SAKE.
On the way back in the car:
Dad: Your mother doesn't seem to need us to stay quite as long at the moment. That's a good sign.
Me: Of course it is.