Though I don’t have the slightest idea how embarassing or hilarious her acceptance speech would be, my mother deserves some sort of award–an Oscar, an Emmy, Tony, or MVP, I don’t care she just deserves something for not only her countless endearing qualities, but also for mastering the Art of Witty Banter.

If you’ve ever seen Gilmore Girls, you can imagine how my mom and I talk to each other–minus the millions of pop culture refrences, and the fact that my mom is not just fifteen years older than me and I weigh probably forty more pounds than Rory and am several inches shorter.

Today, for instance my mom pointed to the top of an SUV in the Blockbuster parking lot, where a long oblong black case (extra luggage carrier or something? I’ve never known anyone who uses one.) was strapped securely on the car.

“See that? If someone dies when you’re on vacation, you don’t have to be bothered with a coffin. You can take them home in that.”

I’m making a note of never dying on vacation.