Mom finds my pot.

This is an actual phone call that occurred in 1994 or 1995 between myself and my mother.

Ring, ring.

Me:  Hello?
Mom:  Dresden?  It's your mother. (This is how my mother always identified herself when she called me at college.  She always sounded mad, no matter what she was calling about.)
Me:  Hey Mom.
Mom:  How are you?
Me (sighing):  Fine, what's up?
Mom:  Well, you know, I'm cleaning the house, getting ready to sell it. 
Me: (distracted by the giant bong being passed by me):  Uh huh.
Mom:  I'm going through your room, putting things in boxes.
Me:  'Kay.
Mom:  Do you want to keep all these vinyl records?
Me:  Yes, for sure.
Mom:  How about all these back issues of Spin magazine?
Me:  You can toss them.  Oh but keep the one with that has Kurt and Courtney and their daughter on the cover.
Mom:  Who? 
Me:  Forget it, just...keep them all.
Mom:  Ok.  And what would you like me to do with your grass?
Me:  My what?
Mom: Your grass.
Me:  Like...the lawn?  What the hell are you talking about?
Mom:  I'm talking about the bag of grass that I found underneath all your old clothes in your dresser drawer.
(The longest pause in the history of pauses happens here.  Grass...in my dresser...what the fuck...oh my God...Oh my God...they called weed "grass" in the 60s...oh my God...she means weed...she found my weed...oh my God...wait....I'm 1500 miles away.)
Me:  Um...you can throw it away...?
Mom:  Ok.  I'll do that.
Me:  Ok.
(pause)
Mom:  Bye.
(Click)