Ma is kind.

Sometimes.

Rarely.

Almost never…

It was the weekend, and everyone was home.

I was sitting peacefully next to Ma when—out of nowhere—she hit me with her hammer.

Me: Why did you hit me?!

Ma: Because I was bored.

Me: What?!

Ma: You should entertain me.

Me: You're literally playing a game!

Ma: So? It's boring. Tell me a story.

Me: A story? We've been together the whole day. What story can I even tell you?

Ma: I don't know. Think of something.

I groaned. "Fine."

And so began the most ridiculous story of my life.

Me (narrating):

Long ago, on a mountain, there lived a mother pig and a baby rabbit.

The mother pig carried a hammer and hit the baby rabbit every day—for fun.

Ma: That mother pig should be called an evil witch.

Me: Ikr…

(I gave her the side-eye.)

Ma (narrowing her eyes): Why are you looking at me like that? Keep going.

Me:

One day, the mother pig and baby rabbit sat together.

The mother pig was knitting; the rabbit was chilling.

Then suddenly, the mother pig asked the rabbit to tell her a story.

The rabbit panicked—

They'd been together the whole day!

What new story could she even tell?

So the mother pig said, "Think of something, or else…"

The hammer gleamed in her hand.

Terrified, the rabbit made up a ridiculous story on the spot.

The mother pig laughed, entertained.

The rabbit sighed in relief.

From that day on, the rabbit prepared a mountain of ridiculous stories—just in case this ever happened again.

Me: The moral of the story? Always be prepared in advance.

Ma: What kind of nonsense story is that?!

Me: It's original. No plagiarism.

Ma (bombastic side-eye): …

She went back to her game.

I went back to chilling.

Peace was restored—until she got bored again.