Sitting on a bench with my mother in a courthouse waiting for my lawyer the day I got divorced:
Mom: You know you’re my little angel, right?
Me: Yes, mom. Thanks. (I have been silently repeating the words Keep it together over and over again in my head for the last hour, and I can tell that this conversation is about to take a turn for the worse.)
Mom: Do you think you’ll ever get married again?
Me: I don’t know, mom. It’s kind of too soon to tell.
Mom: In the eyes of God you’ll never be divorced anyway.
Me: Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t believe in God then.
Mom: Oh my god! You’re going to hell.
Me: Would this be a bad time to mention that I don’t believe in hell either?