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“He wasn’t so nice, Mom.”
What do you mean?
“He was …” I paused, “all over me.”
She looked at me without sympathy.
Why didn’t you tell me before?
I took dead aim. “I didn’t think
you’d care. Apparently, I was right.”
Leveled
Have you ever actually felt one up
on your mom? What an
exhilarating feeling.
She stuttered, coughed, couldn’t say
a word because somewhere inside
she knew she was wrong.
So I pushed even harder. “You always told
me not to judge a book by its cover.
Practice what you preach, Mom.”
Two clichés don’t exactly make for deep
conversation, but I didn’t expect
that (or want it) anyway.
I started for my inner sanctum. Paused.
“I mean look at you and me. On
the surface, we both seem so normal!”
Her face contorted, emphasizing every wrinkle.
“Take a peek inside our family album.
Like what’s in there?”
Do you think that was mean? I guess, but
it felt so great, it made me grin.
Sort of sick, or what?
Light-Headed
