(The night before Thanksgiving)
Me: Can I help?
Mom: Make the pies.
Me: ...usually you tell me no.
Mom: It's instant pie crust, at least get that done. (hands me a roll of pie crust)
(Forty minutes later.)
Me: ...okay, the crusts I made are gimpy. Are pies still okay gimpy?
Mom: Like anybody cares. Recipes for the fillings are on the counter.
Me: Wait, why would you want me to cook more of the pie? I failed at AUTOMATIC PIE CRUST. All I had to do was unroll the bitch. I can't do round peg, round hole. I thought our eventual goal of these pies was to have people want to eat them.
Mom: RECIPES FOR THE FILLINGS ARE ON THE COUNTER.
Sister: (walks in) Nice gimpy pies, loser.
Me: YOUR MOTHER WAS A WHORE.
Me: YOU HEARD ME.
Sister: I delegate myself to the task of supervising and testing for poison.
Me: I see your delegation and raise the task for me to also take a nap.
Mom: Okay, that's it, get the fuck out of my kitchen.