Pieces of mom conversations

Mom: Did one of your friends give birth again? Is that why you're here?
A.: Yes. Nina.
Mom: Oh.

I don't blame mom for not remembering; I blame her for not caring.

There are conversations I don't mind having multiple times, questions I don't mind answering.

Mom: What happened to your nose?
A.: A coffee pot fell on it.
Mom: How?
A.: There's a coffee pot that lives on top of my fridge. I opened the fridge door, and it fell on my face.
Mom: Oh.

I don't mind repeating that. It's this that I don't care for (not once, not ad nauseum):

Mom: You're not having that cookie?
A.: No.
Mom: Why not?
A.: It has dairy in it.
Mom: What did dairy ever do to offend you? Should we just let all the cows roam free?

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There's so much that I leave out these days, because it's not even worth it anymore; mom has raised the bar for bloggable material. Unless it's egregious, I skip it.