The Best Of My Mother

Because my mother is turning out to be something of a hit on the blog, I thought I’d add my favourites among thirty-two years’ worth of conversations (well, slightly less than thirty two, practically speaking).

It’s not that my mother is daft, it’s just that she doesn’t always pay attention.

On a long car trip:

MY FATHER: This cassette’s getting very crackly, isn’t it?
MY MOTHER: Well, those trees we’re passing under are probably interfering with the reception.

When I coaxed her out of a dinner party to admire the blue moon (by the popular use of the term, meaning the second full moon in a month):

MY MOTHER (gazing up at the moon): That’s lovely, dear. Now. Where’s the other one?

On a trip to the Snowy Mountains:

MY FATHER: The Snowy River is very low, isn’t it?
MY MOTHER: Well, I imagine it’s low tide.

And my all-time favourite, during the 1996 Olympics:

MY MOTHER: Michael Bolton won the 200m sprint.
ME: I think that’s highly unlikely.
MY FATHER: I think you’ll find that was Michael Johnson.
MY MOTHER: Don’t be ridiculous. Michael Johnson plays basketball.