Conversations with my mother

I was talking with my mother this morning. I was telling her about a neighborhood festival I want to participate in this summer. I want to start selling some of the things I’ve been making and this might just be the ticket.
My mother never ceases to amaze me. Really. Never.


Me: Mom, I think I am going to have a booth at the Cuban Festival.

Mom: Cuban Festival? Do they speak Cuban?

Me: Mother, I am going to kill you.                  (I was joking, OF COURSE)

Mom: I will talk to you when you are in a better mood.

Me: Cubans don’t speak Cuban, Mother.

Mom: They speak Spanish? Just with a different derelict?

Me: Mom!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dad was a derelict. You mean dialect.

Mom: (is laughing so hard at her silliness that she can’t speak or breathe for ten minutes, and hangs up the phone)