The conversation almost always begins on Chinese New Year eve.

Me, in the morning, as I work as reluctant kitchen help: Mummy, seriously, can’t we just go to a restaurant and not cook for once?

Mummy, looking baffled at such a suggestion: How can I not cook? We have to pray!

Later in the evening, after slaving over the wok for hours, and producing a few days’ worth of food, Mummy: “Next year I will not cook anymore!”

Me: “That’s what you said last year.“

Mummy: “I will not cook next year! Tired already!”

Me: “You promise? Promise?!”