Progressive Bumps

Mom stopped by the office doorway and waited patiently while I finished up the last sentence in an email before turning to face her.  “Hi,” I exclaimed.  “What’s up?”

“I want you to do me a favor,” she said.

“Sure.  What do you need?”

“If that cactus out there gets flowers, let me know.”

“Okay.  Do you mean this one?” I asked, pointing out the window at our ten-foot tall, armless Saguaro.

“No, the other one.  The one out there,” she said, pointing down the hall toward the kitchen.

“Mom, we’ve got almost two dozen different kinds cactus planted around the house.  Is there one in particular or just generally, when any of them start to blossom?”

“The big one,” she said, narrowing it down to a little more than a dozen possibilities.  “It’s out front.”

“Okay, then,” I replied with a shrug.  “I’ll let you know when anything in the front yard gets flowers.”

“No, no, just the big one with the bumps.  They look weird, like they’re progressives and I’m just curious to see if they’re going to turn in to anything interesting.”

“What, like Libertarians, maybe?” Bill quipped as she turned and motored back down the hall.

“Maybe!” she shouted back at him as she sped away.

Progressive Bumps


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