“Yeah, it’s about over by now.” I’m still sore, and besides Pop’s still standing in my door, so I figure there’s a hitch in this somewhere.
“But anyway, you shouldn’t get so sore about an old television program that you shout ‘Mop it up yourself’ at me.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, nothing.”
“Well, I don’t think you should turn a guy’s TV program off in the middle without even finding out about it.”
Pop says “Hmm” this time, and we both stand and simmer down.
I look at my watch. It’s a quarter to eleven. I say, “Well, O.K. I might as well see the end. Sorry I got sore.”
Pop moves out of the doorway. He says, “Hereafter I will only turn off your TV programs before they start, not in the middle.”
Just as I get the TV on and settle down, the doorbell rings.
“Goodness, who could that be so late?” says Mom.