"Officially I'm allowed my sherry only in the evening, but the pain is getting worse. Would you pour me just half a cup?" she asked, pointing to the plastic water cups on the sink.
I paused to think about giving her the sherry, finally saying weakly, "But you're not supposed to have it."
"Oh, is this like my swallowing the mouthwash?" she snapped. "You fussing over the rules of my superb medical treatment. Take a look at me. Are we talking about preserving my good health?"