My mother makes me feel like this.
Here are how too many parts of our conversations – mostly, via e-mail, these days – tend to run:
Me: <insert less than perfectly pleasant, but unfortunately necessary thing to say, as in: I am NOT on crack cocaine, and have no intention to distribute such to minors – put as delicately as possible.>
Mom: I love you.
Me: reiterating same, again, struggling for the gossamer-like delicacies of phrasing.
Mom: Did I mention how much I love you?
Me: Love you, too, Mom. Just so you know, though, by the way, just thought I’d mention — in passing — just in case such a thing might cross your mind? I’m NOT on crack. Or anything. Like, you know, CRACK.
Mom: Hope all your projects are going well.
Me: Everything’s doing great, Mom, listen: I’m hearing through the grapevine that you’re telling people I’m a CRACKHEAD, any truth to that little SCUTTLEBUTT?
Mom: I hope you make a ZILLION dollars! You know how much I love you, and you DESERVE it.
Me: Yeah, yeah, thank you, Mom, but wait – oh, hang on, Mom, the kids are screaming…
Mom: (in the background, but unfortunately, doing sort of deaf): What did I tell you?
Me: MOM! She just fell off her bike, that’s all. Mom? I’m an artist, not a drug addict, okay? There actually IS a difference…
Mom: I love you.
Me: Doh! AAAAAAH! Mom, I love you. I gotta run.
Me: (Trying to call my sister. Line is ringing, ringing, finally picks up.)
Sister: Hello? Listen – can I call you back? Are you okay? Mom’s on the other line – I have to call you back. Are you feeling all right?
Me: (seething) I’m fine. Tell Mom I love her.
(photo source: http://images.allposters.com/images/pic/GBEU/FP1334~The-Simpsons-Posters.jpg
But the original link was from, oddly, a site called “Art of Europe” – so they stole it first.)