Mother's Bad Date Today

I winced. “What else?”

“Surprise me.”

“With snacks or weapons?”

I knew it was bad before she even opened the door. I heard the sigh—the particular sigh of a woman who has just watched a man eat soup with a dessert spoon. She walked in, kicked off her heels, and went straight to the freezer for the emergency pint of pistachio ice cream. mother's bad date