“Shucks! You shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t. I have no idea who sent ‘em.”

“Jeepers! You really don’t care anymore.”

“Of course, I do. I keep putting down the toilet lid.”

“Gee, Willikers! That’s only been forty years in coming.”

“Well, you still fart in your sleep.”

“Son of a biscuit, how would you know?”

“Haven’t been sleeping too well.”

“Sweet Patootie! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Most times, you don’t give a flying fig.”

“Not true. I care! I really care!”

“Balderdash! You took away my ice cream and my sandwich cookies.”

“I’d like you to live a little longer, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’d like to live a little better. So, who do you think sent the blooms?”

“Sheesh. Don’t know. One of the kids?”

“Alan’s mad at you. Betty doesn’t believe in Mother’s Day. Candy’s short on funds. Maybe, David sent them.”

“Jumping Jehoshaphat! I should call that child and give him my thanks. It’s been a while.”

“Shizzle! I forgot to tell you that he called last week—Deborah’s in the hospital.”

“Another grandbaby?”

“Tarnation! No. Cancer.”

“Phooey! She’s the nicest of the married-ins.”

“Gadzooks! I also forget to tell you that Candy’s watching Little Dirk and Little Daenerys for the duration.”

“We should bring over some food. Her own Little Caderina, Little Caden, and Little Cahal were already costing her more than she could manage.”

“Criminy! How ‘bout we clean out the fridge and cupboard and make a deposit in Candy’s account?”

“You’re a good man. Now tell me everything about Deborah.”

“Abdominal lump. CT scan. Ordered to stay in the hospital.”

“Good grief! We need to do something.”

“David asked that we wait until they call us.”

“Wingnut! I’m his mother.”

“He emphasized that you ought not to call.”

“He’s afraid I might visit or, worse yet, yell at the docs?”

“Exactly! After you took that phlebology course, you haven’t stopped yelling at anyone in a white coat.”

“I care about my family. I care about their quality of life.”

“Yup. So, leave David and Deborah alone.”

“Shut your piehole! I heard on Oprah that tens of erroneous cholecystectomies and open hysterectomies were performed last year, alone. Plus, some fellow had the wrong leg amputated and then wound up having to lose his bad leg, too.”

“Cholecystectomies?”

“Gallbladder removals.”

“Oh. Well, Deborah’s problem didn’t start in her belly. They think that the mass spread from elsewhere. They’re searching for a brain tumor”

“Cotton pickin! That makes no sense. Probably some colon problem that metastasized to her head. There’s no history of cancer in her family.”

“No matter. No calls! No visits! No texts! Be a good gun. Just wait for them to contact us.

Consarnit, please leave them alone!”

“Mother-of-pearl! Who died and made you chief commander?”

“I care about our kids.”

“And I’m just this family’s used tissues?”

“Hun, no. But you are a bit of a nutcracker.”

“Aww. You really do care, you son of a motherless goat.”

“Rasa-frasa-rasa-frasa! Take me seriously. The world does not revolve around you. Sometimes, your answers are not the right ones.”

“Jeepers! That’s news.”

“So, it took me four decades to say. I mean it! Con found it, my feelings and thoughts count, too.”

“What a moogly! I thought I married a nice man.”

“Did. I’m still nice. You, on the other hand, you horse patootie, tend to act as though…”

“Are you making pillow talk?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought you felt insulted, hurt, you know, minimalized.”

“I’m over it. Good man, remember?”

“Daughter-in-law in hospital, remember?”

“Told to mind our own beeswax, remember?”

“Last one under the covers has to turn off the lights and put the flowers into a vase.”

“I remember.”