Mom: "I need $3000 to pay for my assassination."
Me: "Your assassination?"
Mom: "I mean my funeral! When are the paleontologists going to arrive?"
Me: "The paleontologists? You mean the palliative care specialists."
Me: "My mom wants a curbside service."
Will: "A curbside service? Like a drive thru? Like, go pick up a cherry limeade and whisper into the microphone, 'give us all the cherry limeades you have!'"
Me: "Graveside service. I mean."
I'm turning into Mom.