[Scene, 28 March 1961; I was the Oldest Son in this little drama]
[As the curtain rises, the door is just closing behind the Father, who has a couple of little things to finish up at work. The children are vomiting, more or less in unison, but without much interest. One cat is pawing suspiciously at a stack of manuscript pages on the corner of a table stage left, and the other cat is pushing a loaded ash tray off the television set. The Mother of the house is a woman in her late fifties, or possibly early thirties, whose period is eight days overdue and who has given away all her maternity clothes. She is seated near the table stage left, keening. A Katie Lee record can be heard playing in the background.]
Oldest Son: It certainly is a relief to have that over with. I had no idea that a person felt so much better after they were through being sick, if you know what I mean.
Second Son: [to Mother] It’s quite surprising, it really is, Elsie. Unless you’ve been through it, you just don’t know.
Youngest Son: Be quiet, everybody. I can’t hear the record. [Turns up the volume so all can hear the words “Life is just a bed of neuroses” clearly.] My favorite song.
Youngest Son: Be quiet, I said.
Second Son: By the way, we’re out of Kleenex and paper towels, and I think we’re out—yes, we’re out of toilet paper. Are you going to use the mop, or what?
Second Son: There must be something we can think of for you to do.
Mother: [slowly] Yes, there is … something … I can think of to do. … I can go out … through … the only door I can get to without … stepping in anything. [Exit, gingerly, stage left.]
Oldest Son: [Following her] It certainly is a relief to have that over with. Everybody is certainly going to feel much better now that … [trails off]