What My Mother Doesn't Know

Culture Clash Dylan says when I meet his mother today I shouldn't mention that I'm Jewish. I say okay, but can I tell her about the HIV postive thing? He gives me a look. I give him one back

We've turned off all the lights in the living room to make hand shadows. We've got this big flashlight aimed at the wall. I make the silhouette of my hand into a duck. Robin makes his into a rabbit. Now my duck kisses his rabbit And-POOF!- it turns into a turkey. And for some reason this strikes us as hysterically funny. But you probably had to be there.

I wish he hadn't gone and cut his hair. He looks about eight years old. His ears have tripled in size. Everyone's started calling him Dumbo. Which wouldn't be so bad, except they've started calling me Mrs. Dumbo. You can't even tell he's got curly hair anymore. There's nothing left to run my fingers through. Just this weird blond AstroTurf sprouting out of his skull.

I love that sign," I say. "I love you," Robin says. I feel my cheeks turn the color of the sky. "I love you, too," I say.

what my mother doesnt know wont hurt her

Grace says, "Are you thirsty? I could go get the hose..." I say, "Thanks. But I'd rather have a swig of some Miracle-Gro.

Every now and then, during the commercials Dad will say something like, 'How was school today, Sophie Dophie?' Once I said, 'We played strip poker during third period and I lost.' Dad just said, 'That's nice,' without even looking up from his meatloaf.

If Dylan and I had met by chatting on the Net in a room of cyberspace instead of face to face and I hadn't seen his lips or the way he moves his hips when he does that sexy dance and I hadn't had a chance to look into his eyes and be dazzled by their size and all that I had seen were his letters on my screen, then I might as well confess: I think I would have liked him less.

I prefer to thin of it as rebooting my ovarian operating system.