On Monday, my mother was practically bursting with excitement. The following is how the conversation proceeded. Sort of. Mostly. Mmmk, I’m getting older, my mind is slipping, and I have a twisted sense of humour. If you’re drinking something, put it down. No seriously. Put.IT.DOWN. And swallow that sip still in your mouth.

“Guess what I ordered?”

“A Capuchin monkey that’ll scratch your head while you play Angry Birds on your iPad?”

“No, silly! Something with much more oomph than a Capuchin monkey. Jeez.”

“What, then? J-Lo’s ass?”

“Lauren!”

“Well… you gotta admit, J-Lo’s ass has FAR more oomph than a Capuchin monkey. Although a Capuchin monkey would fit much better into a Fiat than J-Lo’s ass – I’ve digressed. What’d ya get?”

“It’s a curvy, sleek, stylish, auto-draining stainless steel dish rack. It sits up on four rubber nubs, and has curved stainless steel prongs, and the angle is such that it doesn’t collect water but instead keeps the water running straight into the sink!”

“So…what you’re saying here is that you got a busty new rack for your dishes?”

“Yes, and it’s simply fantastic. It’ll gleam in the soft light of the kitchen lights as the dishes drip dry rested atop silver rods.”

“Sounds like you’ll have some extremely happy dishes soon, Mom.”

“Oh, I will. I will.”

“I’m gonna leave you and your new rack all alone then, mmmmk? My Capuchin monkey is signalling to me that lunch is ready. And when the Capuchin says jump, by GOD, you jump. Because it just gets ugly when they fling poo.”