Mulled Vine

“It just happened!” I cried, tears of frustration welling up inside me.
She looked at me with longsuffering bemusement. “You mean to say that heap of dirty clothing at the bottom of your cupboard just appeared, from nowhere?”
I nodded vigorously.
“Nothing to do with you?” she continued, peering intently into my eyes.
I met her gaze unflinchingly. “Nope.”
“Are you sure you are telling me the truth, Robbie?” I could hear the growing sternness in her voice but nodded again.
She sighed and took my hand gently, leading me to the window from which could see across the valley to the blue mountains shimmering in the distance.
“Those mountains,” she said, pointing. “How do you think they came about?”
I looked at her earnestly, years of Sunday School training clamouring for attention, and replied, “By accident.”
She looked at me aghast, but then regained her composure. “That’s just silly and you know it. Now tidy up those clothes and stop talking nonsense! I’ll wash your mouth out with soap if you lie to me again.”
“But, Mum!” I protested.
“Now!”