A tale of yesterday

People often come to me for free eitzos and brachos. Yesterday was no different, and I welcomed in a middle-aged woman who poured out her heart to me. She has a 16 year old son, she said, and was very nervous about him.
“Why?” I inquired politely.
“I’ve never had any problems with him,” she said. “Most boys his age have been to a therapist for something or another, they’ve been in some sort of trouble or problematic situation, but not my son.”
“Well, that’s great,” I responded. “Th–”
“It’s not great!” she interrupted. “I’m afraid he might have a normalcy disorder or something.”
“Oh,” I said thoughtfully. “I must admit I’m not an expert in this field, but it doesn’t seem like it’s something to worry about.”
“How can I not worry?” She said loudly. “He’s my son! I’m afraid something’s wrong with him!”
“Aha,” I said. “Do you want a bracha that he get some sort of disorder?”
“Chas v’shalom!” she shouted. “He’s my son! How can you suggest something like that?”
“So should I give him a bracha he should be normal?”
“No! That’s the whole problem!” She continued screaming.
Oh boy I thought. She’s clearly drunk. Stone drunk. Why can’t people listen to my psak that drunkenness is only for Purim Gadol and not Purim Katan? Why couldn’t she read my kol korei that people who are drunk shouldn’t scream because that makes it look like getting drunk is painful and scare other people from getting drunk? Why do people come for my brachos and don’t listen to my psakim?

Oh boy. Oh boy. Maybe it’s because she can’t tell the difference between Mordechai and Haman now. MAybe all year she thinks I’m a Haman and only when she’s drunk she comes to me. I could feel my beard turning white. Is that what she thinks oif me when she’s sober? Am I really a Haman?

And suddenly, I realized if she doesn’t know the difference between Mordechai and Haman, then she shouldn’t know the difference between baruch and arrur, either.

“Yipee!!” I jumped up, startling her so much that she stopped midway through normal, making it sound like “no–“. So loudly that my devoted gabbai ran in, expecting to have to lead the woman away politely but firmly.
“I know what to tell you!” I shouted. “Your son’s disorders should be completely cursed and obliterated! L’chaim!”
And as she pondered what I said, I nodded to my gabbai, who politely but firmly ushered her, non-protesting-too-much, out the door.