(no subject)

My parents and I eat dinner together at least once a week. I figure I won't be here forever (gods willing!), so I should make the most of living in the same city as them while I can.

Lately we've been playing poker some nights. Penny ante, crazy family variants - it's fun! I lose. A lot. I also like to say "Baby needs a new pair of feet!" Thus:

me: *is broke*
Mom: I guess your baby will have to go without feet.
me: Yes, none of my children can have feet now! And they have to walk to school, uphill, both ways, with their little stumps wrapped in used Kleenex, held on by my own tears.
Mom: *laughing* That's terrible!

The next week, I lost even more, and we decided my poor husband would have to start going without his daily sip of gruel to help cover my debts. Because he works 18 hours a day in a coal mine and 10 hours a day in a textile factory, and he has the black lung, and a club foot, and he's balding. He makes 10 cents an hour, half of which he sends to me, but my gambling addiction and my parents' refusal to let me win mean all his hard work is for naught. So, last night:

me: *broke again* Think of my poor husband!
Mom: Yes, poor guy. He'll lose even more hair worrying about you.
me: And he probably has a really goofy name, like Milford.
Mom: Or Mumford.
me: Or...
Mom: Or EMO!
me: That is totally his name forever.