A conversation I had with my parents.

MOM: A man and his dog were lost in the woods for a couple days. They got lost while hiking.

ME: Is the dog ok? Did he eat his dog? He ate his DOG. WHAT A MONSTER! HOW COULD HE?

MOM: *after laughing at me* The dog is fine.

ME: Good. Because, otherwise, he would have been a monster.

–Some time later–

ME: You know how cats eat their owners when they die, but dogs usually don’t?

MOM: Yes…

ME: Well, if I got lost in the woods with Azlan, I would want him to eat me if I died. And I don’t think he would. Do you think if I started feeding him little pieces of myself before I died, he would eat my dead body? Like, feed him chunks of my arm.

MOM and DAD: *purposeful silence*

ME: You’re IGNORING me.

MOM: Yes.

ME: How could you? I need your input! These are the questions that keep up at night.

MOM: Yes, sweetie, I know.

(Later, I asked my brother the same question. He answered yes. I thanked him for his input. )

ME: If we were lost in the forest and you died, could I eat you?

MOM: Sure. Once I’m dead you can do whatever you want.

ME: Cool. Noted.

MOM: Could I eat you?

ME: WHAT? NO. I am your DAUGHTER. That’s so WRONG.

MOM: Your dog could eat you, but I can’t?!

ME: He’s my SON. He could eat me, but I would NEVER eat him. God, Mom, it’s called being a good mother.

MOM: I’m going to eat you anyway. You’ll be dead.

ME: Fair enough.


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