Congratulations on Meeting Your Estranged Mother!

“Oh christ, it’s you.”

Those will be the first words out of her mouth when she first sees you. She was a surrogate womb for a wealthy pair of doctors from New Hampshire. She endured the horrors of being cared for constantly by the lonely couple all for the promise of never having to work again. And you had to show up on her doorstep and ruin it all.

“Well, shit. What do you want?”

You’ll be astounded at just how fat she is. Since the childbirth she must have really let herself go. When your adoptive parents told you about her they said she was a very beautiful woman, but, even without the burns, you don’t think your mother could’ve ever been described as “beautiful.” She’ll be wearing a mumu, and she’ll always be holding a lit cigarette in her hand. The whole thing will be really unsettling.

“I just wanted to meet you, mom.”

She’ll snort. She’s gotten school pictures of you for the last seventeen years, copies of report cards and photos of you with trophies. But all she’s ever felt looking at you is a jealousy that you’ve got the sort of childhood she never did and a pang that you ruined her vagina and never gave her anything back, aside from a $45,000 hush money payment. When you tell her this, tears welling in your eyes, she’ll frown.

“I ehnt your mother,” she’ll say, “I just birthed ya. Those yuppie folks what you done run away from, they’s your real family.”

Then she’ll spit on the floor and sit down on her stained and burned armchair to watch Judge Joe Brown. You’ll want to cry, but you can already tell that if you start weeping now genetics will kick in and she’ll beat you with an iron until you lose consciousness. You’ll bite your lip and look her in the eye, but her focus will be set on the TV. You can already tell this was a mistake, but you have to go through with it.

“Do you ever regret it?”

She’ll turn off the TV and put in a mouthful of fresh chaw before she looks just to the side of you, considering. You have no way of knowing what her life has been over the last few years, no means of knowing just what she’s endured since you emerged from her and she cut herself loose from your foster parents and the idyllic suburban life they let her witness briefly, but it obviously has not been kind to her. After a solid minute of staring at the wood paneling she’ll shake her head, the folds of her fat dislodging a few cheetoes as she does so.

“Not really. Just wish my pussy hadn’t been so stretched. Now get the fuck out and let me watch my stories before I call the police.”

She’ll say police “poe-lease,” and you’ll know she means it. She’s done it before to her other surrogate children when they wouldn’t stop crying and fawning over her. You won’t give her that satisfaction. You’ll turn on your heel and walk out the door and start walking in the general direction of New Hampshire, thumb outstretched.

In a few miles, you’ll be picked up by a Subaru driven by two nineteen year old girls. This is how you’ll lose your virginity.

Sorry the meeting didn’t go so well, but it wasn’t all bad. You got a little play, you found out that your life is going much, much better than it could’ve been and you found out that your foster parents really must love you if they put up with that fat bitch for nine months. Those fifteen minutes were all you could bear.

So congratulations on meeting your estranged mother. Pack some condoms for the trip.