Ma Smash: Are you at home?
Me: Yes.
Ma Smash: At your apartment?
Me: Um, yes.
Ma Smash: Oh, sorry. It was so quiet, I was confused.
Me: ?
Ma Smash: Every time I talk to you, there’s so much noise in the background. I figured you’d given up your apartment and moved into a bar.
My mom (from Iowa, bless her Midwestern heart) is absolutely convinced that my cell phone can only be used whilst driving the car. She asks me, “Where are you?” every time I talk to her.
If I say, “At home, ma,” she accuses me of being a liar.