“Oh, no! I promise it's not human," Mom bats her hands in the air in an effort to wrangle them back into their seats. "It's newborn calf.""Oh, Hon, we don't do baby legs neither.”

“Oh, hon, it's the little courtesies that make life bearable, I find, wouldn't you agree?”

“It gripped her hand gently. 'Regret is for humans,' it said.She laughed. 'Really?'The machine shrugged and let go of her hand. 'Oh, no. It's just something we tell ourselves.”

“Mom's eyes blazed. "Are you sleeping with her?"Oh, god. Did we have to do this here? Now? "Well, actually," I smirked, "we don't get a lot of sleep.”

“what good will it do to tell her her mother´s alive if her mother gets herself killed in the next hour?really?call me provincial, but to me it seems cruel to say, guess what?your mom´s alive. oh wait. she WAS alive. now she is dead again´cause our worthless asses couldn´t save her. sorry,hon. hope you´re ok with me jerking your emotions around and stomping on them. and while i´m at it, you got a newborn puppy i can kick too?”

“Oh, Ed!" Mom exclaimed. "It's a Victorian.”