During the course of which my mother and I demolish a piece of tiramisu

"Margaret just keeps repeating the same things, the same stories and she'll ask you the same questions every fifteen minutes and everything is so delightful."

"Oh, that's just adorable dear!" I chime.

It's a favourite pasttime of ours, disecting people. I do it with my parents. Can't do it around my friends because it tends to creep them out.

"You know, it's the things that she doesn't say that really hit you," she says, sipping her huge late carefully, so as to not disturb the foam.

"She always says he was a good man. She repeats that a lot, and that they never wanted for money, and that they had a nice home. But it's what she doesn't mention that's more interesting. I'll bet he was a company man."

"Had a job with good pay, long hours and unfulfilling work," I add.

"Came home grumpy all the time, and the reason why she's so incredibly cheerful and nice is to compensate for him. In keeping with the times, children would most likely be seen and not heard. They would be her responsibility, as would be cooking and keeping the house clean. They lived in a picture perfect house. It would have been absolutely pristine. She is the sort of woman who would make sure she had fresh lipstick on by the time he came home. Goes with the times."