Thursday night, Momma and I celebrated an achievement of hers, and then went out to dinner for her accomplishment and my birthday. I was thinking of a sandwich with garlic aioli, and she was thinking of a pasta dish and cocktails. When the waiter came to our table, Momma asked me what I wanted to drink. I said, "Diet Coke," for I am a fan of anything with caffeine, and this restaurant doesn't serve diet Mt. Dew.
Which is a shame. Everywhere should serve diet Mt. Dew. It is delicious and refreshing and burns my throat and can keep me pleasant for days.
Momma looked at me with sad eyes. Then she looked at me with a bit of stink eye. The waiter, noticing this, mentioned that margaritas were on sale for $2.95. Momma looked away, still looking at me somehow, in a way only mothers can.
"Apparently we're having margaritas," I told the waiter, and he left to fill our order.
My mother totally peer-pressured me into having a drink when I didn't really want one. My Momma is a protagonist in a very special episode.
I love that woman.
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