I hate it when my mom (who is in her 70s)talks about dying. I mean I HATE it. And she knows this and likes to mess with me about it. She is kind of onery (isnt that like, the weirdest word?) like that...well, she is VERY bad, but those are stories for a different time.
We are sitting in the bleachers at L's last game of the season tonight and it is cold out. She was all wrapped up with her little hood around her head, and its obvious she is cold. Because she is old, I worry about her constantly. She knows this, and thinks its fun (I told you she is onery). Anyway here is the convo:
Me: Its cold...are you too cold?
Her: No, Im not TOO cold.
Me; Well...I could go see if I could find you a blanket.
Her: No. Its OK...I have to start to get used to it. The grave is pretty cold, they say.
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHH. Stop it. Shut.up.now.