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The Getting To Know Mom Series: Episode 1: Mommy Doesn’t Need To Know Mommy Is Coming by Luca Satana
I think it’s safe to say two moms don’t make a right. Definitely not my two moms and this whole Mommy Doesn’t Need To Know Mommy Is Coming chapter in my life.
Starting with Mommy Doesn’t Need To Know Mommy Is Coming:
In the history of weird situations, this has got to be the weirdest. And I wonder on what planet my moms thought this was okay. And yes, I did mean moms. Even though, technically, only one of them gave birth to me, they both were my moms. And if you ask me, the two of them, both of my moms, need to take a long serious look in the mirror to consider the part they played in this misadventure. I think, only then can we truly start to come back from this. You hear me, Moms?
So, I was 18, now. And truth be told, nothing much had changed. I got my license. Finally. It’s not like I wanted to get it. But at 18, I think they just won’t let you get by without one. So you can vote, I guess. Something I didn’t really want to do, either. You give me a candidate I can believe in, or at the very least, believe, for 5 seconds, and maybe I’ll want to vote. Good luck with that. But more than anything else, this last change, this change I’m about to tell you about, I most definitely didn’t want to do.
I remember the night quite clearly.
It was a Friday. I was in a pretty good mood. I just had my first date with Laura, this girl from school. It went pretty well. We did some kissing. Some this and that. But nothing alarming. Or monumental.
Anyway, when I got home, I tossed my coat over a chair and headed upstairs. I was seriously thinking I might do my homework. On a Friday night? Get real. Try more like Sunday night. Or more like Monday morning before class. But, like I said, I was feeling good. In a good mood. So, anything was possible, really. Even doing my homework in the very beginning of the weekend, rather than the very end.
So, yeah, on the way to my room, I passed by my moms’ bedroom. They were always doing something in there. And often partially, or wholly naked. Sure, it was a little weird. But maybe not really. Or maybe I was just used to it. Regardless, mostly because of this, I had got in the habit of not looking in my moms’ bedroom. Even when the door was wide open. Because, with my moms, the door being open or closed meant nothing.
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