It happened on Mother’s Day.
“I’m going to see Fifty Shades!” Mom announced with great excitement while she, my father and I had lunch at Pellegrino’s.
“What…I mean…movie isn’t made…bad…blergh…” I stammered in response.
Dad might have thrown down his napkin in disgust at this point. He doesn’t know exactly what Fifty Shades entails; only that he’s disgusted.
Almost simultaneously, Dad and I both blurted “let’s talk about something else.”
I gave my attention to the antipasto.
Starting tomorrow night, I’ll be avoiding Mom’s calls for three days. At least.
I don’t want to talk about Fifty, Mom!