Congratulations on Realizing Your Mom is a Lesbian!

There have been signs. Many, many signs. Like when she made you watch The Kids Are Alright with her and talked at length about how she’d be totally cool with it if her mom revealed that she was a lesbian at a late stage in life and how sometimes lesbians have sex with men for reasons that aren’t entirely clear at the time. And when she made you go to all those roller derby games and talked endlessly about how hot all the girls were. And when she grabbed your French teacher’s ass that one time during a parent teacher conference.

You’re kind of dumb for not getting this earlier. But today you’re going to be confronted with proof even you will not be able to ignore.

You’ll be coming home from school a little bit earlier than usual. A bomb threat that your girlfriend Sally called in will have vacated the premises sooner than scheduled so that she could get to a Sleater Kinney tribute show that your mom suggested to her the previous night when she was hanging out in your room with the two of you talking about how great young pussy tastes. You’ll step into your house and drop your bag on the floor loudly, causing your mom to shoot stock upright, completely naked, from the couch. Her mouth will be covered in some suspicious liquid. It’ll become clear what that liquid is when your next-door neighbor and general neighborhood-bad-girl-back-from-college Collette (real name Colleen) Mathews arches her back to get a good look at you.

“Fuuuuuck,” she’ll exhale.

“Honey, could we have a second?” your mother will ask.

You’ll nod in response and walk back out doors with your head hanging, baffled by what you just saw. You’ll be out there, staring out across the street, while the sounds of soft conversation and apologies echo from within the house. After five minutes, on the dot, Collette will emerge from your house, fully clothed, with a grin on her face.

“See you later,” she’ll say, winking at you as she saunters back to her house. You won’t notice until she’s almost at her front door that she’s holding her underwear.

Your mom will emerge a few minutes afterwards. It’ll be clear that she didn’t want to have to restrain herself in front of you from the way she’s panting. She’ll be wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt without a bra, and she’ll be glowing.

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” you’ll say before she has a chance to speak.

She’ll bite her lip in silence for a few minutes after that, licking her lips occasionally as if she was planning to speak. The two of you will be out on your porch watching traffic for a good long time. Eventually Collette will even pass by, winking at your mom, who will smile back at her. It’ll be nearing darkness when your mom finally speaks up.

“Your dad is okay with it. If that makes a difference.”

Congratulations on Realizing Your Mom is a Lesbian!

Congratulations on Your Sweet Scar!

It’s one of those ones that runs over your eye and makes people think you’re a badass. As long as you don’t tell anyone that it was caused by a Lego related incident you should be able to milk it for a lot of Poon™. You’ll be the most in-demand single dad in town if you play this right.

Congratulations on Your Sweet Scar!

Congratulations on Your Noble Sacrifice!

“It’s okay, son,” you’ll tell him, tears welling in your eyes. Your hand will be resting on his shoulder and he’ll look at you confused. He’ll have no idea how hard this is for you. You’ll cough, trying to cover your first sob.

Your wife will look at you, baffled. She clearly doesn’t know what’s going on, and you don’t want to clue her in. You want her to be just as happy as she’s always been right up until your end. You’ll smile and squeeze her hand, which will be a little awkward since you’re still holding your son’s shoulder. It’ll involve spreading your body out across the entire dining room table to touch both of them at once, but it’ll be super dramatic.

“Thanks, dad,” your son will say, ducking out from your hand to grab the last piece of chicken from the frying pan. He’s a growing boy, and he’ll have to be the man of the house soon. He’ll need that chicken to help him grow up big and strong.

“No,” you’ll say, coughing blood into your hand. “Thank you, son.”

The last world will barely issue from your throat and you’ll topple out of your chair when you finish, blood trickling from the side of your mouth. Then your wife will run to your side, remembering your meat deficiency. She’ll look at your supine form and realize what she’s done by failing to prepare enough poultry that night.

“Why!” she’ll shout to no one in particular. “Why didn’t I purchase more chicken, or perhaps some pre-made chicken as a safety measure?! WHY?”

She’ll hold one hand up to the sky in a dramatic gesture while the other one cradles you. Your son will sit at the table, a piece of chicken on the tip of his fork halfway between the plate and his mouth.

“Daddy?” he’ll say, tears welling in his voice.

Your wife will be weeping now, cradling your body with hers. “Eat the chicken, honey,” she’ll say without looking at him. He’ll force it down his throat, every bite tasting like ashes, then he’ll help your wife with the dishes before the two of them call the paramedics and have your body removed.

Congratulations on your noble sacrifice. It truly was a great gesture, although you will be condemning your son to years of therapy, even more than your horribly planned “birds and the bees” speech would’ve.