They stood at a kitchen sink filled with dirty dishes – one washing, one drying.
“Feel free to chime in at any time with your objections,” she said, taking a glass away from her daughter before she crushed it in her hands.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, mother.”
“To quote you, ‘you can’t pick my friends’.”
“I’m using your dating argument.”
“It didn’t work with you either,” she mused. “Your father was younger.”
“By months, not by decades!” Her voice shrill with exasperation. “He’s closer to my age than too yours.”
“Did you want me to ask if he has a friend?”