Jimmy eyed his mother in horror. How could he ever have loved a woman who could do such a terrible thing? The milk seemed to be fastened directly to his stomach. Racing from the room he found that there are more than a few problems connected with being a drunk.
When he came back and fell into his bed, his mother moved around the room, opening the curtains letting in the sunlight, as she had every day of his life.
He said, "Mother, will you please take those hobnails out of your shoes? And whatever you're doing to those curtains, stop it. The racket's enough to rouse the dead."
"They wouldn't let me come to the hospital, dear," she said.
"Was it very bad for my little boy?"
"Very bad. Did you get the report on me?"
She nodded. "But do I really have to give you that poison they recommended for your mornings?"
"What poison?" If she'd only stop yelling.
"Coffee!"