TIM: Hmmmmm. The suitcase is out. Where are you going?
TIM: Again? When are you leaving?
ME: On Christmas afternoon.
TIM: My. Why so sentimental?
ME: I know, right? Smack dab in the middle of the day. I wonder if it will be crowded at the airport?
TIM: I wonder if you considered your husband's day in any of this?
ME: Tim, he said to buy the ticket because it was so inexpensive. I have to go to Ohio for my mom's 90th birthday. You know that.
TIM: Well. Use the accessory wall thoughtfully. And I don't mean yours, I mean your mothers'. You know how tastefully she accessorizes. Just listen to her when you dress for her party.
ME: You know, Tim, Mother isn't exactly hitting on all cylinders these days.
ME: Do you still trust her to dress me? Or even accessorize me?
TIM: Let me put it this way, Deborah. Are you sitting down? Even in your fifth decade, with your education and demeanor, I would prefer you to be accessorized by your 90-year-old, slightly senile, fragile mother whose sense of fashion clearly out-ranks yours and, in fact, whose 90-year-old bones are even thicker and stronger than yours. She is clearly "in".
ME: *quietly* I can take her in a race.
TIM: Of course you can, Deborah. Of course.