HOW I KILLED MY PARENTS LAST NIGHT

I don't see my parents often, but I do like to go home for the food. For Rosh Hashanah we were invited to the home of some friends of ours near Princeton. I went. Had to leave early because, well, I can't be with my parents all that long. They were worried I had drunk too much. And not that concord grape stuff; these people had REAL wine, REAL drinks. I, dutiful Jewish boy that I be, told them I'd call when I got home.

It's an hour from our friend's house to mine in Philly, going 60 up 95. No shortcuts, about an hour. A half hour after I left I pulled off to get gas. Used the pay phone, called home.

"Mom, Dad, I'm back now. You can stop worrying." Click.