"Mom, what's wrong?"
"I saw a cockroach," she said as I peeked inside the place.
"We both know you smash them faster than Dad used to drink a bottle of beer."
"Nothing. A simple slip."
"We have a funeral to take care of. I know you're good with that stuff. I'll handle the people calling, you do the tidbits."
"Are you hungry? I have some mashed potatoes in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer, and fruit in the living room."
"What? What do you want already? Do you want me to smack you? You're starting to sound like when you were a child. I didn't smack you then, but there's still time."
"Fine. I'm not saying anything anymore."
"Good. Now off you go."