Mum has a habit of saying things that don’t really say anything.
She could sell ice to the Eskimos if she put her mind to it,
and talk the hind legs off a donkey.
She asked if I wanted a top up and I handed her my almost empty glass.
Mum returned a moment later and I asked if I could have another cigarette.
“Help yourself.” she said.
“Do you smoke much?” she asked.
She advised me to stop before I’m twenty,
otherwise,
I’ll be hooked for life.
It’s good advice I guess,
but not as good as don’t smoke.
The conversation soon returned to the disastrous meeting.
“Well, today’s certainly been an experience.”
“You can say that again,” I said as I swiped a stray bit of ash from my forearm.
“Do you reckon it’ll grow back?” I asked as my fingers lingered on its smooth surface.
“Course it will,” Mum said.
“It always grows back.” she added.