I meet up with my mum after work. My mum and I have an interesting relationship. I think the easiest way to explain my mum is that when I was in my teens she thought Days of Our Live was real life. Nothings changed. She’ll believe absolutely anything she sees or hears. The day she joined Facebook was awful, and within a few weeks she became the only person I ever blocked. So I take me mum to Ra’s cafe, cause I know they are are struggling.

Here is a rough outline of our conversation.

Me: Mum do you have a plan in regards to this virus?

Mum: We’ll be fine.

Me: No. Mum, this is serious. You need a plan.

Mum: It’s fine. Ja can bring home toilet paper and food from work, so it’s fine. (Ja is my younger brother by two years and works as an assistance manager at a supermarket and lives at home).

Me: (image that Julia Roberts meme where she’s calculating the equations.) Mum. Ja is now working in a high risk role, plus he had a heart attack two months ago and is overweight. He is high risk. If he gets the virus. What is your plan?

Mum: He’s be fine. I can look after him.

Me: Mum. This virus can kill people like you and Ja. If he gets sick and he can't breath, what will you do?

Mum: I don’t know.

Me: Mum, call an ambulance. Or call me. (there is a high level of annoyance in my voice at this stage). What if you get sick too. Both are you are sick. What do you do?

Mum: (now annoyed with me) I don’t know.

Me: Mum, call an ambulance or call me. Do you get it.

Mum: (and here it comes) You’re over reacting a little don’t you think.

Me: (internally screaming and wishing the all mighty f*ck my mum was smarter than a five year old). Mum if hubby or kids have the virus and you and Ja also have it, and I have chose who I look after - it won’t be you.

Mum: (now refuses to talk to me)

Literally every time I meet with my mum it ends with her not talking to me. Anyway, we leave - it’s my turn to pick up my niece from school and drop her to work. Once we arrive mum decides she’s going to catch the bus home instead of me driving her home. I let her go. I can’t even do this with her.

Hubby gets home that night and asked how I got on with my mum. My reply, “She is going to die.”

Of course, with my luck, she won't and she'll be the first person to tell me, "I told you so." and because "she who knows little, often repeats it", I'll been hearing about it for the rest of my life. Yippy.