“You coming down for your sandwhich?” My mother hollered up the steps. His mumbling voice responded and she returned to the living room where we had all been huddled to watch tv and eat our subway. An occasion since I was visiting them that afternoon.
“He’ll probably come down later.” She informed my father and I as we ate. A conformation that she didn’t understand a word he said either.
“You ever feel like he’s is like Wilson from Home Improvement?” I asked my mother, knowing she would completely understand the reference.
“At least Wilson would show his eyes over the fence. He’s just a voice from upstairs.” She said bitterly.
My father looked into the distance dreamily for a moment, then said “More like Wolowitz’s mother.”
I thought I was going to choke on my Italian BMT and die of laughter.