"Du bist verrückt," Sigmund joked, lips curled upwards around his cigar.
"Deine Mutter ist verrückt!" I shot back. Freud gave me a brief quizzical look that quickly dispersed; he had long since gotten used to my extremely odd sense of humor, despite still not understanding it.
"So, what shall we do today?" I continued in English, realizing that I could not maintain the entire encounter in the more appropriate German, despite having lived here for several years. Sigmund was eager to practice his English with me, and so I had no immediate need to learn German. Despite it being 19th century Austria, it all somehow worked out.
Honestly, I do not know why I didn't learn German before coming here. But then again, I wouldn't have had time; it was a split decision, to travel two centuries back in time and befriend Freud. One would think it would be a more well-thought-out decision, but, alas, what started out as a silly, drunken joke at a party turned into a demanding decade-long experiment.
"I need to go to the market later," Freud replied, "I am out of milk."
"Your mom is out of milk."
The look was back. "No, I'm quite sure her mammary glands are quite supple." How Freud would know this, I do not know, nor do I wish to ever find out, but I always let him answer as he liked. He usually gave me what I need.
"Your mom is quite supple," I continued.
"Yes, I just said this."
"Your mom just said this!"
Freud had no answer for that, not that I would expect him to, and we continued our stroll down the street, pausing every once in a while to peer into a shop store or watch another person's actions on the street. It was our favorite activity, people watching, though Freud was usually much more involved in the observational process than I was. All I cared about, really, was finding any "your mom" opportunity. If anything, my time here will have shown me that, really, I'm not all that interesting of a person...
"Oh, look at that couch!" Freud exclaimed, words slurring slightly in a dreamy sigh. "Oh, but it's so expensive..."
"Your mom is so expensive!"
Freud stopped. "All right, that's it. Why do you have such an obsession with my mother?"
I replied the only way I could think how to. "Maybe it's YOU who has the obsession with your mom!"
My work was done.