My mother can sure pick ’em. The guy who picked me up from Gigi’s was a shirtless hot mess. I mean who in their right mind has a tattoo of a handprint across his abs? I was in pure shock that my mother, herself, did not come get me. Rather she decided to send one of her many men. I don’t really remember what his name was but he just kept talking about nothing. Did I really want to hear the joke about his tattoo? No. Did I want to have him hit on me? No. Did I want to hear about how wild my mother is? No. I will never ever want to know any of that but I found out anyway. He told me and I quote “Dude, my ex- girlfriend got super mad at me one day and decided to paint her hand with black ink and b-slapped me across my rock hard abs!” [Insert deep manly laughter with my shocked face.] “Whoa, you’re a total babe, apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree. I bet you like it rough like your mom, we’ve done things I’m not even sure are legal in certain places.”
The house does not look the same and it does not feel the same at all. The place I grew up has changed into a party house. Alcoholic beverage bottles scattered everywhere along with clothes of all kinds. I made it into my room which to be honest looks like I never left. It is the only un-“lived-in” room in this whole house. Wish me luck as I venture outside to find my mother.