What Kind of Cake?

Kevin and I are known to communicate in hyperbole and superlatives. I swear if someone overheard some of our conversations they would think that we'd either gone insane or about to conduct a gun duel.

Kevin's mom often calls to ask if we want dinner or dessert. Often, Kevin will say something along the lines of "I don't know, Mom.  Surely really doesn't like your cooking."  He says it so convincingly too.  His mom, who is really sweet, always seems to accept it on face value.  As if he would ever say it and mean it.  As if I would ever say it, aloud.

Last night, his mom phoned to ask if we would like some cake.  She had some Red Velvet cake last week so Kevin asked if was the week old cake or something new.  This was a half genuine question because she's had strokes and sometimes sh*t happens.  (example: biscuits and gravy with blueberry biscuits or serving cold pork and beans with tacos)

I didn't hear her response so when Kevin asked if I wanted some cake, I sincerely said I didn't want week-old cake.  Kevin repeats what I said and adds "She's such a bitch, Mom."

I was tearing up, I was laughing so hard.  For once, I was serious.