the Dalaverse

A partial transcription of tonight's dinner with the maternal unit.

First forty-five minutes: perfectly normal. Discussion of family quabbles, nature vs. nurture, sexual orientation, Marlon Brando, and other random topics.

Then came Margarita #2.

Mom: Do I sound like Jack on "Willis and Grace"?
Dala: *facepalm*
Mom: Hehe, that was pretty funny actually...

(okay, yeah, it was. But still...*facepalm*)

figuring out the tip
Mom: I don't want to make a gaffu like Daddy...what's that word?
Dala: Snafu. Or gaffe. Pick one. You can't have both.
Mom: Gaffe, how do you spell that? G-A-U...
Dala: G-A-F-F-E. S-N-A-F-U. D-I-O-S M-I-O.
Mom: Was that Spanish?

Mom: ::orders coffee with three-quarters of second margarita left::
Dala: ::pours cream in the salsa, attempts to take away third basket of tortilla chips, plays Blackjack on cell phone::

exiting the restaurant FINALLY
Mom: I want ice cream. Can we get ice cream?
Dala: I just had sopapillas. I ate them before your coffee even got there.
Mom: You're not nice to your mother.

exiting parking lot
Mom: That is a big-ass truck. Don't hit that old man. Or that little boy and his father. His father's shirt is untucked.
Dala: ::restrains self from driving into oncoming traffic::
Mom: Wheee! You hit a wheelie on that turn!
Dala: ::was going 2 mph::

Mom: ::incessant babbling for ten minutes::
Dala:: WITH A REBEL YELL, SHE CRIED MORE, MORE, MORE! ::fails to drown out chatter even with help of Billy Idol::

Dala: ::drives around traffic circle to park in usual spot on the street::
Mom: Hey, you didn't stop!
Dala: That's right, because I'm making you walk up the hill, because it's funny.
Mom: Look, the door's not closed and you locked it!
Dala: Bump it with your hip.
Mom: I don't have the keys!
Dala: Bump it with your hip.
Mom: ::lifts foot and slams it into door:: There.
The Cheese: ::is mistreated::
Mom: ::walks up hill:: This hurts my shoes.

upon entrance to house, immediate retreat to Fortress of Solitudebedroom.
Mom: ::wanders into room in just sweater and underwear:: Can I have one of your little...::holds up thumb and forefinger three inches apart::
Dala: What?
Mom: Cokes, one of your little Cokes.
Dala: I only have Sprite left.
Mom: ::face falls:: But I don't like 7-Up!
Dala: Sprite.
Mom: But I don't like Sprite!

Mom: ::wanders back in again, still pantsless:: You know, my feet are not ugly, I have very pretty little feet --
Dala: GO AWAY!
Mom: Are you writing to all your friends that your mother is obnoxious?
Dala: Yes
Mom: Haha *thoughtful pause* That's not nice. All your friends think I'm nice. I bet they say that all the time. They say you have a nice mother.
Dala: Of course they do.

Mom: ::wandering in yet again:: Do we have ice cream?
Dala: No.
Mom: Oh. Would you like chocolate chip cookies?
Dala: Sure. If you want.
Mom: But they're frozen. But it says you can make them frozen.
Dala: Okay.
Mom: I don't really want those, though. Do my Fudgesicles have freezer burn?
Dala: Yes.
Mom: Do we have any Popsicles?
Dala: I. Don't. Know.
Mom: I bet we have cherry Popsicles.
Dala: ::shuts door::


Oh sweet blessed silence.