Give em an Inch

So of course, I talk to my mother while sick, which opens the door for a volley of calls after. My new BFF.

She calls, ostensibly, to ask my advice. Which she never takes.
"I'm planning a luncheon for twelve. I'm going to order ...then she slowly reads each item, including the frou frou accompaniments, off the menu. Carefully pronouncing Au Jous. " "Oh that sounds good," I'll say. "Except you might not want to do an chocolate fountain. The woman will be wearing silk dresses, it's messy, it's overpriced. It's just really grubby and people end up double dipping. "
"Well," she'll retort ruthlessly "People like them."

People like writing Juicy on their ass too but it don't make it right...

Oh. Ok. Then don't ask. You actually just want me to VALIDATE your choices. Which is fine. Just own it.

She calls me today to wordsmith a message to a family celebrating one great joy and one horrendous loss. (She's sending an edible arrangement btw. I hate, my sister loves, go figure, and a teddy, and balloons. Anathema. I'd toss the whole mess out for a single box of pampers and some Similac but that's practical for you.)
So we wordsmith a bit on the good news message then discuss how to recogize the second.

"Do you want to donate to a hospital, or a chairty? What about this, or that." I enquire. And she proceeds to start giving me a TON of information completely irrelevant to the decision. "Well, I called so and so's boss. My desk is locked. This one was at this place, and she was with whoiswhatsis with so and so."

Finally I said "Listen, I REALLY don't need this much information."
To which she snipped "WELL. I don't know what to tell you then."
"Less," I said. "Tell me less."