My eighty-six year old mother is sharp as a tack, and she can be as annoying as sitting on one. She doesn’t do crossword puzzles, which I’m told is good mental exercise for the elderly, so I do my best to keep her mind active. Once a year I ask her the same question: How many “T”s in pizza?
Our last exchange went something like this:
“Mom, how many ‘T’s are there in pizza?”
“Dammit! I hate it when you ask me that. Let’s see—last time I got this wrong. There’s one ‘T.’ No wait a minute; that’s what I said last time and I think I got it wrong. There are two ‘T’s. No, wait just one minute; you’re trying to fool me and there’s only one. Heck, there’s probably two. Stop annoying me with such a stupid question!”
“Your final answer…?”
She sighed. “There’s only one ‘T’ in pitza.”
The same answer that she gave last year.