o tempora o mores

Returning to the Chateau de Healy late tonight I found my venerable mother Lil and my yogic sister Marie seated in the kitchen.
Their expressions seemed oddly ill at ease.
"Evening all," I proclaimed with the cheery goodwill many of you have come to know and love.
The Marie and the Lilt attempted to reply.
"Hellumpf," they managed in unison.
Ah yes.
It's difficult to say hello through mouthfuls of a sick man's health food.
"What the hell is going on here?" I cried. "Have you people been stealing my Brazil nuts?"
"We have," grinned the Mammy, obviously relieved to have everything out in the open.
"They're delicious," quoth the Yoganaut, grabbing some more from the hastily concealed bag in her lap.
Ireland's greatest living poet beheld them both with quiet dignity.
"So," he said softly, "it's like this."
"Mmm it is," said Marie with nothing you might mistake for guilt on a dark night.
Not so much speechless with rage, more terminally miffed, I exited with Paddy Pup.
The Mammy called after me as the door banged shut:
"You'd better get some more of that cherry drink. We loved that."
Their laughter followed me to the fields.