I Kill You!

Thanks to Jill L for this one:

Two Muslim mothers were sitting in a cafe chatting over plates of tabbouleh and two pints of goat's milk. The older of the two pulled a bag out of her purse. She started flipping through photos. Together, they started reminiscing.

"This is my oldest son, Mujib. He would have been 24 years old now."

"Yes, I remember him as a baby."

"He's a martyr now."

"Oh, so sad Dear."

"And this is my second son, Khalid. He would have been 21."

"Oh, I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was a baby."

"He's now a martyr."

"Oh, gracious me . . . "

"And, this is my third son. My baby, my beautiful Ahmed. He would have been 18."

"Yes, I remember when he first started school."

"He's a martyr also."

After a pause and with a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looked wistfully at the photographs. Searching for the right words she said, "They really blow up so fast, don't they?"