"But I don't like gelatin that well," I said.
"I don't, either, but it's so good for both of us," she said with her best don't-try-to-argue-Mother-knows-best smile.
I had a steak that night after she went to bed.
The next day, I got a call from the head of the warehousing division over at Civic, asking me if I had any preference on warehousing molds.
"What molds?" I wanted to know.
"Well, let's see," he said. "We've got 3.5 million round gelatin molds with a hole in the center. We've got 5.6 million square gelatin molds—no center hole. And 7.3 million figure-eight gelatin molds and I understand there's a hell of a lot of deep-dish gelatin molds coming up tomorrow from Supply at Schenectady."
"Why in hell have we got all those molds?"
"Don't know," he said. "Civic Machine ordered them, so I suppose we need them. Where do you want the storing done? Thought we might run up one of those new Kiosk warehouses out east if you have no objection."
"Put it anywhere you want," I said, switching off.