The candidate

As I was sitting in my mother's office, Colin walked in and immediately turned to me. Apparently one of the people who has applied to be his assistant knows me from when I used to work weekends in an art gallery and he wanted a reference. I'm not used to being put on the spot like that, so I referred it to my mom, who also knew her through the same source.

"But I've already talked to her," he said. I looked to my mother.

"Just don't talk to him about her art," she replied, and we both began to giggle.

"Is this something that I should not be hearing before I interview her?" Colin asked.

"Yes," we both replied. He rolled his eyes and left.

What we were referring to was two very similar conversations that each of us had had with her on separate occasions, that went sort of as follows:

"Yeah, these paintings here are okay, but I don't really like flowers much. I don't suppose they'd put any of my paintings up here though."

"Oh, what do you paint?"

"Vaginas."

Walked right into that one. Okay, there's nothing really funny or exciting about that at all, but it kind of caught me off guard at the time, and the same went for my mother.