*Mom ironing peaceflly by window.* *I tiptoe and sit on her bed.* 'I'm a widow.' I say.
Wait for it. Wait for it. There! She spins around leaving the iron to burn a hole through my dad's shirt. 'What?' she demands. 'I'm a widow!' I sigh. 'Really?' she mocks sarcasticly, crossing her arms. 'Yup. My crush died before I was even aware he existed.' I sighed again eyeing the burning shirt. She rolls her eyes. 'Whatever.' she says turning back to examine the vehement vapor from the iron. I wait. Patiently. 'And who, were you married to?' I smirk, 'Fred Astaaire, of course!' Now it's her turn to sigh while I go on and on about all the other proclaimed Mrs. Astaires out there. Really, it's a wonder she doesn't have gray hair.