“Hey, shut up! Who’s back there talkin’? Yo, buddy, take her home or somethin!”
It took my mother less than 30 minutes to get kicked out of Boston for being friendly.
By the time we got across the bay on the water taxi from the airport and home to Coolidge Corner, she was bruised on both sides of her ribs from me elbowing her, “Mother! Stop talking to people and don’t look at anyone! Don’t point! You smiled at her… you are going to get us arrested!”
Of course, she may seem sweet and full of smiles, which may be a result of the little white pill she takes every morning, but Mother is ruthless (at cards). In no time at all, she had her Satanic minion, Victor, trained at rummy. On Sunday morning, he rolled over and before yawning, “Good Morning, sweetie,” he hissed, “I’m going to kick your ass at rummy.”
Now she’s gone home to Texas and we’ve got two new sets of cards and blisters on our dealing thumb.