Little sonny, now that you're old enough to drink a red cup of Coors from the keg like a big boy, let me tell you some truths:

Your mom is grinding. That's what moms do. Moms grind. Moms are made for grinding and cutting crusts of sandwiches and then lots more grinding.  There's an r&b song about a guy who is getting an erection because a girl is dancing too close to him, and he's worried she might be feeling "a little poke comin' through... on you". That song is about me when I watch your mother grind.

Now let me get you a refill.