You had me at the title. And then you said: MILKED UP and one breast on strike, the smell of a pooped-up child, sitting in the middle of the room, wet T-shirt, swishing your hair around, and you made me think of my mother, who gave me everything she had in the world and she died without being able to speak because she just wanted out. She had stopped eating for three weeks, and you could hear the liquid in her throat. She was drowning. Her eyes looked at me hauntingly as I asked the nurse: “Is this it?” And the nurse said “Yes,” right in front of her. The kicker is my mother had been waiting for me to come in that day and I knew. So, I took my time. I tried to prepare myself. And just as soon as my sister left to eat lunch and wanted me to go, I declined. My mother and I are twins. That raspy voice continued and then she stopped and started turning gray. They couldn’t get her mouth to close. We waited for the funeral home truck to come. It was over. A lifetime of sacrifice for a son, who could not save her. Not even once. That’s why you are sexy. Because you are the most wonderful being in the world, and because of you I am reminded by how much she gave to her children every day of her life.