"MUM, anda bought the 'No pulp' kind again..." I grumble, grimacing with my first sip of jeruk, orange juice.

"Sorry, dear. I always forget which kind anda like," she apologizes.

"It's 'SOME pulp'," I remind her for what must be the millionth time.

She scribbles something on the grocery daftar tacked to the inside of the silverware cupboard door.

"Run out and get the mail?" She asks.

I run my thumb up the stack of napkins that sits on the table. "Do I have to?"

She turns around and gives me a look that usually means No-dear-you-don't-have-to-but-if-you-don't-I'm-going-to-buy-more-no-pulp-orange-juice....