"Hey, Mom, guess what? Next week I have Thursday night off. You know what that means! We get to watch So You Think You Can Dance together!"
"Oh, sorry, sweetie, but there's something else I was looking forward to watching in my room that night."
"What are you watching?"
"Ummm . . . just a show. You wouldn't be interested."
"Mom--what could be more important than watching our dance show together? Come on!"
"Well . . . it's, ummmm . . . *ahem* . . . I think that's the night the new Big Brother begins?"
"Big Brother? That insipid NON reality show?"
Laughing, "Mom, you're such a Loser!"
We speak to each other with such consideration. Sometimes, it's more like a twin language between Beautiful and me. Most of our insults are gibberish that nobody else gets. This insider-only banter of ours particularly got under the skin of Beautiful's ex-weasel-deadbeat-loser-bastard-fiance. heh heh
At the end of the day, we have the deepest respect for each other. But when it comes to outdoing each other with the barbs, it's every woman for herself.
Later, standing in our 2 square foot bathroom together, Beautiful helping me with a 'do, the phone in the kitchen rings.
"Mom. MOM--you're so deaf! Don't you hear the phone ringing?"
"Yeah. And? Isn't Dad out in the living room? He can get it."
"Nice. You want the man with the hurt back to jump out of his chair to answer the phone? You're so nurturing." I hear her chuckling devilishly under her breath to have scored TWICE on me with no sign of rebuttal.
And then, while standing behind me working on my hair, "Wow! There's so much gray!"
"WHAT!?!" I calmly inquire.
Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror, I can see Beautiful barely stifling an explosion of laughter. She got me good that time.
"Oh yeah?" I lamely retort, stalling while I search for just the right zinger, "well you're . . . you're . . . you're NOT adopted!"
Beautiful is stricken at that idea and begins to cry.
I win. heh heh