We're having a Christmas Eve brunch this year instead of a giant dinner. Everything will be low-key, and it'll be a potluck, so the responsibility will be shared.

I was just talking to Mom Waffle about what we'd all like to eat, and I asked if orange rolls were out of the question, as my family and I have very different tastes sometimes. "No more than purple rolls," she replied. I then insisted that REAL purple be used, and not that imitation purple crap. (I truly appreciate our ability to converse in the absurd.)

She asked, somewhat sheepishly, if I'd be using "thwack biscuits," her name for rolls of Pillsbury biscuits, as she'd been taught to thwack (such a lovely onomatopoeic word) them on the edge of the counter to split the seam. My poor mother nervously anticipates the moment when the canister bursts, and as such, hates these biscuits with a fiery passion, but only when she has to make them herself. It's much the way she only hates pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving because it's so close to her birthday, and years of being served a slice of pie with a candle in it in lieu of cake will do that to a person (evidently).

I said I'd make them; I knew how much she hates the pop. She thanked me and said, in a moment of delicious irony, "I don't like overly dramatic carbohydrates."