the good book of Mum

As I dropped Anniemay off at the station on Thursday morning to catch the train up to Manchester, she went through the usual check list;

her; “will you be alright?”
me; “don’t worry”
her; “will you look after Dan?”
me; (he’s 32, I say to myself ….) “of course”
her; “and if you could manage a bit of cleaning ….”

I intended my answer to be a non-committal grunt, but it came out as “sure”.

I remember this conversation about half an hour ago.  Just after she lets me know what time she’ll be home.

Dan hears me with the hoover; he’s puzzled.  I explain. “Oh”  he says “I thought you were trying to get into Mum’s good books.”  

As if.  Do I ever complain about random piles of shoes?  I counted five pairs this morning; they’re usually found alone - it’s very unusual to find a group like this.

I think I have a permanent bookmark in the ‘Good Book of Mum’.  Or at least a page turned over.