"When I go to visit my mother (as I will be doing shortly) I feel like tearing my hair out. 'Oh,' I hear you say, 'one of THOSE stories.' But no, it's not. She lets me enjoy my usual sleeping habits, lets me put my shoes on the couch, and eat whatever I want. But there is one huge difference between my house and her house, and for the two weeks a year that I stay with her there is just one point of tension. I'll set the scene:
"'Mum,' I'll say from the couch of her small apartment, 'Would it be okay if I use the computer?' 'Of course!' My mother will exclaim (hey, she only sees me twice a year, so she's pretty enthusiastic). 'I'll just get it out...'"
