putting the knit in shizknitz

My mom is crazy. I often tell people that. I think she’s crazy because we’re exactly alike - yes, something I’ve come to accept as I’ve gotten older. We talk on the phone at least once a week, if more than that passes, she typically knows something is wrong and will call to pester me on what’s up. I usually call a little after I get home from work and after she’s home from work, around 6:15 PM ish. I’m usually starving by then, but my dinners are usually late, I eat after T comes home from work which ends up closer to 8 PM. My mom typically taunts me on the phone with “I’m eating steak… its SOOOOO GOOD” or “fresh made gyoza, wanna come over?” (mind you, I live a good 3 hour drive from home).

Tonight, she bumped this torture up a few notches (imagine this all in Japanese):
Mom: So, tonight I have Hakata Ramen and prime rib. Want some?
Me: Ohhhh that sounds soooo goood. I’m starving.
Mom: Yeah, its soooo Oishiii! Wanna come over?
Me: I wish… (interrupted by a slurping noise) what the heck is that?
Mom: Just listen! (more slurping noise)
Me: Mom, what the HECK are you doing?
Dad, in background: YOU ARE SO MEAN! STOP THAT!
Mom, speaking with her mouth full: That’s the sound of me eating ramen. Its good.
Me: You’re so messed up. I’m hanging up now.
Mom: Okay. Bye. It’s good!