Your Mother Dresses Ya Funny

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She went to the gallery, like she promised him she would, neglecting to tell her husband the real reason. A politician’s wife must know when to hold her tongue, when to reveal a tidbit, and when to lie through her perfectly white teeth. This situation belonged to the middle category: tell him just enough to avoid suspicion, the truth, but only part of it. That was the key, and it must be balanced delicately. And who would know better than a politician’s wife?
A sharp spring breeze gave Emma the little extra push she needed to get through the gallery door, and rammed her right into the man she came here to please.
“Ben, I’m so sorry,” she apologized, clearly flustered with her less than graceful entrance.
“No blood, no foul,” he shrugged. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” she agreed, stepping back to examine him. “Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?”
Ben snorted. “Well, well. So much for being politically correct! No, my mother insisted that I wear this. She thinks it looks sophisticated.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Ben beat her to it.
“I know it’s not.”
“Oh. As long as you know.”
He laughed. “This way, Madame,” he said, offering his elbow to the immaculately dressed Emma Miller. “I would like you to meet my mother. Mother. Mother!” he shouted at the distinguished silver-haired woman in front of them, with her back conveniently turned.
“Yes, Ben, dear, I’m listening! You needn’t shout!” she said, turning around. “Oh!” she exclaimed upon seeing Emma. “I’m Dorothy, Ben’s mother.”
Her hand shot out and grasped Emma’s in a vice.
“This is quite an upgrade, Ben, dear. Quite an upgrade from the last girlfriend.”

“Friend,” Emma corrected quickly. “We’re just friends.”

The three of them chatted for quite some time, laughing and having a grand old time, then Emma realized how late it was.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m late for dinner,” she said, adjusting her Dolce & Gabbana diamond-encrusted watch, suddenly reminded of what she had left at home: beige walls, a wedding photo on display, polished furniture, and an impatient husband.

Ben escorted her away from his mother and asked, “Your husband is expecting you?”

On her way out the door, she whispered, “He’s always expecting me.”





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