A Day At Mother's

dear read... stop that's almost a palindrome start ...er my father called my mother mother but i called my mother Mum also this is not a poem for mother's day but though written on mother's day please read the title as intended simply to be a memory of being at my Mum's house one day when i was thirty one years of age but this is what was going through my head knowing that someday i would write it down i was in the kitchen sauteing onions in butter and Mum was in a back room in the back of her house when from the stove suddenly a splatter of butter now turned to ghee but still with the fat floating on top spat up and on to my arm stopping all thoughts as mentioned above as well as the wooden spoon i was using to saute the onions in the butter now ghee i caught myself but not catching myself in time also dropping the F bomb in fact dropping the whole nine yards when suddenly the stampeding sound of a single animal entered my ears as suddenly as did my Mum and she slapped me in the face and said, "Don't you ever use that kind of language in this house ever again!!!" and that slap took my 31 and turned me to 13 once again back to when i was a boy in the kitchen cooking and said, "Yes Mum."