Me: Mom, would you do me a favor once we get back?
Mom: Maybe.
Me: Please stop telling people that you broke your hand because I beat you. Someone is going to call the police.
Mom: I'm not lying. You do beat me.
Me: At backgammon.
Mom: You still beat me.
Me: Please?
Mom: Okay. But I'm telling everybody that you wet the bed.
Me: I did not wet the bed!
Mom: Yes, you did! You wet the bed and turned the sheets blue!
Me: Mom! I got on the bed in a wet swimsuit cover-up, and it bled all over the sheets.
Mom: Yes! And I had to sleep on the sofa because you wouldn't sleep in the blue wet spot. So I'm telling everyone you wet the bed.
Me: You know, I could start beating you.
Mom: You know you won't. I'm too cute. And I have a poor little broken hand.
Me: How does your poor hand feel today?
Mom: It feels bad sitting next to a bed-wetter, that's how it feels.
Me: <sigh>
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