Turning tables

Inevitably when parties come together under a single roof there will be a period of forced learning and unwilling compromise, of tongues bitten and suppressed outrage, all for the sake of peace.  


And at other times there will be out and out warfare.  And that's where Mum and I are at.  Over.  A.  Table.

To me it's a battered old thing: 

worn, imperfect, solid, functional and full of character and potential.

To Mum it's an eyesore, a piece of junk 

definitely undesirable in the pristine kitchen zone (to be).

Our conflict is borne in fundamentals:

• a difference of taste 
• a generational divide 
• a power struggle and
• a line drawn definitively in the sand.

Who will win the battle?
Who will win the war?