The Joys and Hardships of Having a Famous Mother

One morning my mother had Wilford Brimley come over and make some Quaker Oats for my breakfast. I walked downstairs and she told me she was going back to bed. Something about her jaw being sore. Mr. Brimley moved deftly around the kitchen as I lit up a Lucky and downed a quick shot of whiskey.

“That stuff’ll kill ya,” Mr. Brimley said, sliding the bowl in the microwave.

“What the hell, you’re only thirteen once,” I said.

He chuckled. “Well, I guess yer right about that.” In a couple of minutes he sat the bowl down on the table in front of me. I took a bite and choked it down.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Tastes like shit, Brimley,” I answered.

“You rude little cocksucker! I oughta bust that bowl over yer fuckin’ punkass head!”

I stood up and threw the bowl at his glowering red face.

“Well then, you shuldn’ta fuckin’ asked me!”

I went upstairs to my room where Julie was showered and waiting for me. I rolled over after we finished and handed her a washcloth to wipe the come from her chin. Reaching into my nightstand, I pulled out a joint, lit it, and inhaled. After passing her the joint and exhaling, I told her, “That fucking Brimley’s a real jerk.”

“I’m sorry he ruined your breakfast, baby.”

“Where did Mom find you, doll?”

She smiled and blew smoke against my face, suckling my earlobe.