Lunch with Mom
“You need a special kind of chemical for this to come off,” Mom said while inspecting the rusted burners on my exhausted stove.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “Because I’ve tried everything and nothing seems to work.”
“I can make it for you,” she said, looking intently at the damage. “I just bought vinegar, bicarbonate and hydrogen peroxide the other day. Next time I come visit, I’ll clean it for you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Sit down, please. I’m going to cook the steaks and reheat the pasta.”
“You need a microwave, “she said a moment later. “Soon as I get my pension, I’ll buy you one.”
“No, Mom,” I countered. “I have a little oven, you know.”
“But you need a micro,” she argued. “They’re faster.”
“Well, yeah,” I said.
I plated the steaks and the pasta and we sat down to eat.
We talked little as we were both hungry.
Between silences, I could hear the clickety-clack of her dentures when she chewed.
Next time, I thought, looking at her, I should get her the best, softest kind of meat.
¡Hola! Quick, before you leave: I understand not wanting to commit to a subscription, I know money’s tight for everyone. But if you can spare a tip, then I’d greatly appreciate it. Gracias.
More Microfiction by me:
Hey, we both are infamous and writing dark pieces. So much in common 😊
only the softest meat for mom. ❤️