I woke up by falling out of bed. Not the most pleasent of sensations.
Grumbling ruefully, I got up and took a shower, poured some cereal, and watched the news. Death, destruction, and rising gas prices. Nothing new or particularly interesting.
I stuck some cookies in the oven (nothing like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to ease up a pained person), and pottered about, cleaning this and that and avoiding thinking about the conversation with my mother last night.
It was inevitable, I suppose.

Honey, I just… I feel like I don’t understand this.
‘I told you why Mom.’
Yes, but honey, don’t you think this is taking it a little too far?
‘So, do you want to hear about the house?’
Stop trying to change the subject, Paige. It’s rude.
‘I’m using those purple curtains in the kitchen.’
What? No! I told you that those look absolutely terrible with…

Mother was easily distracted by bad taste in curtains.