Preservatives

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He put down his spoon, swallowing with some difficulty. "This soup's awfully salty, ma," he said. "Is this what you actually eat for lunch?"

"Of course," she answered, refilling his just-emptied lemonade glass and then sitting down across the table. "All that fancy free-range hippie food is fine for when you're young, but when you get to be my age and have to start buying your groceries on a pension, you really start to appreciate canned soup."

"Ma," he sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. "I keep telling you, I'd be glad to help you out with your bills if you needed -- "

"There's nothing wrong with living frugally," she interrupted smoothly. "Besides, that salt you're complaining about is good for you. Canned soup is full of preservatives. Who couldn't use a little preserving?"

He paused in the act of drinking, glass suspended halfway to his mouth. "Um. You know, that's not actually how it works. That stuff preserves the food, but it's actually pretty bad for people."

"I'll tell you what," she replied archly. "You know Mrs. Vernon? That nice lady down the street? Ninety-six years old and counting, comes over to have lunch with me every other day?" He nodded. "If she dies and the doctors say it was the soup, I'll stop eating it."