Mother’s Day Of The Dead

(My family is what people consider morbid for the way we talk about our deceased mother. When Mother’s Day comes, this is one of the many stories I have about why I’m not doing anything.)

Coworker #1: “I’m taking my mother to dinner and buying her flowers.”

Coworker #2: “I’m cooking my mother’s favorite dinner. What about you, [My Name]?”

Me: “I’m not doing anything for her.”

Coworker #2: “How can you be so mean? Don’t you want to show her you love her?”

Me: “I do love her, but it’s not like she is going to throw a fit and yell at me.”

([Coworker #1] is laughing, since she knows about my mother and that I have already told [Coworker #2] my mother is dead.)

Coworker #2: “I hope you have a miserable Mother’s Day, [My Name]. Your mother might leave and you will never see her again.”

Me: “If my mother leaves, I will know, since there will be a giant hole from where she dug herself out of her grave. It’s not like she is going to say, ‘I’m tired of this grave plot; I’m moving to a new one.’”

([Coworker #2] got mad, cussed me out, and then refused to even look at me. [Coworker #1] had started laughing so hard they were snorting.)