“Good morning, Death-Phoenix.”

“Yeah yeah…what’s up?”

“I just decided to give you a call…”

“…so you wouldn’t have to call tomorrow for my birthday?”

I so don’t want to have this conversation with her, especially after coming off of a non-eventful three-day weekend of condescension and condiments.

“Well I wasn’t able to call you on Sunday so…”

“…so what are you getting me this year?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Damn right, nothing. This is a woman who cannot be pleased. Last year, I got her a $50 gift certificate to Amazon.com. She has yet to cash it in. Her response? “What’s a ‘Amazon dot com’? I ain’t finna be giving my credit card information to no hackers.” Year before that, I got her a DVD player because she had been clamoring on about wanting one. The one I got her is still in the box. Year before that I just got cash. She called it a “lazy present”.

“Why aren’t you getting me anything? Don’t you know I’m turning 53?”

I haven’t eaten anything in almost 72 hours. Imagine me giving a fuck.

“I know you’re turning 53, but you’re the worst person in the world to buy presents for; everything I get is just not enough.”

“Fine then, don’t get me anything for my birthday.”

Cue water works.

“All my life all I tried to do was be right by you children and now y’all treat me like I’m something you stepped in.”

“Oh please…you’ve gotten me the same present every birthday for the past eight years — a $10 bill and a card. And I haven’t said one bad thing about it because it’s the thought that counts.”

“So you must think I’m nothing then, is that it?”

“No, that’s not it…look, I have to get to work. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

And…scene.