I admitted to my friend Toni that I talk to my mother sometimes when I'm using the bathroom. It's a great place for that sort of crazy. I'm alone, so no dirty looks to deal with, and it's not like I can do anything else anyway. When I asked Toni whether this was crazy, she made me promise I wasn't going all Joan of Arc.
Mom would never ask me to kill the English. She'd just bitch that I wasn't putting enough salt in the gravy.
Then she said: "I'll talk to my dad sometimes. I wouldn't think yer crazy or nothing, less you started going all Ophelia in Hamlet with gravy recipes. 'She says it needs more salt, must add salt. She promised me the recipe. Where is it???'"
My peeps are funny sometimes.