Okay.  My mother wants me to stop with the embellishments.  So here is the revised version of God Love the Little Washing Machine story.

We were eating dinner. 

We heard a loud noise that sounded like a helicopter. 

My mom stopped eating and said, "That's the trauma helicopter.  Say a little prayer.  Someone is badly hurt." 

We all felt bad for about 30 seconds until it sounded like the fore mentioned helicopter was going to hand on top of us. 

"WHY IS IT SO LOUD!" I yelled. 

Everyone shrugged. 

We were all perplexed. 

Then we heard a banging, thumping, whirling noise that seemed to come from the mudroom. 

My mom smiled and said, "Oh, I guess it was just the washing machine." 

The end.

What she calls embellishment is really just using the English language to it's fullest potential.  And I obviously got my storytelling ability from someone (and it DEFINITELY wasn't my dad).  So...if my mother and I are both consummate storytellers...then WHO can you really believe.

Bec

P.S.  I NEVER said we were holding hands around the table.  See.  Now who is the LIAR (I type this with a smile on my face as I would never call my dear mother a liar, at least I might but only in jest and stuff).