It's the little things.

Mom: I just want you to know I picked up your dog's poop today. (grossed-out face, tongue sticking out). Me: You walked her? That's great, thanks. Wait, haven't you always picked up after her? Mom: No, I never told you that. I always left it, acted like I didn't see her doing it. It was France, no body cares. Me: Well, this is Oregon, you have to pick up! Mom: I know, so I did. It's in your kitchen garbage. Me: What??! (grossed-out face, tongue sticking out)