“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