Like Mother, Like Daughter

You are currently reading from the Trials and Tribulations of a Crazy Asian Series.

“Ugh,” I heard my mother sigh.  According to my watch, five seconds had passed which meant she was committed to the conversation and therefore, wouldn’t hang up on me.  However, before we went any further, she needed to say the words, “Lauren, I told you this would happen.”
“Ugh,” I sighed.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Lauren!”  my mother snapped.

As I re-focused my eyes forward I asked, “What?  How do you even know that I’m doing that…which, of course,” I lied, “I’m not.”
“You think just because I can’t see you means I can’t see you?!” she laughed.

I sighed, knowing my defeat and began second guessing my choice, “So,” she continued, “what’re you drinking over there?”
“Vodka rocks.”

I heard my mother inhale deeply and say, “All right, hold on.”

I heard a swoosh followed by a soft thud – I was in the right hand pocket of her pink bathrobe now.  I heard the bed creak as she rose and made her way to the door and out into the hallway.  The sound of her dry skin hitting the steps hinted that she wasn’t wearing slippers.

She opened and closed several cabinets before opening the pull out freezer of her new refrigerator.  Four clinks later, I heard glass against glass and the smooth pour of liquid entering a “Best Mom Ever” mug.  She shuffled into the TV room where she and I had watched many a Project Runway elimination, removed me from her pocket and said, “All right, pumpkin pie, what’s the trouble?”

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