Age is just a number

I checked the address. Yes, this was 1294 East Hampton, Mom's new place. Knocking at the door brought no answer so I moved round the side of the house to where sweeping lawns ran down to an infinity pool, overlooking the city below. In the middle of the lawn was a hot blonde in a bikini doing a downward dog pose. Was this the wrong house after all?

She spotted me and stood up. "Don't you recognise me?" The voice gave it away. What was this, invasion of the body snatchers?

"Mom?"

"I've had a little work done." That was an understatement. The Mom I left six months ago was a dumpy five feet two, with chubby, rosy cheeks, grey hair and glasses. What stood in front of me was a slim, bronzed MILF. Okay, if I looked closer I could make out evidence of a tummy tuck and a boob reduction, and when Mom took off her sunglasses I could see that the facelift had gone a little too far. But, hey, good on you Mom.

I turned at the sound of footsteps. The guy approaching was Mr. Muscles, dressed to show off his physique. He was a little older than me but not by much. "Lance darling, this is my son, Tate." The guy kissed Mom and put his arm around her shoulders. Now the reason for the work was obvious.

To think that I had been worrying about introducing Mom to my fiancé. Vanessa is a little older than me, nearly twenty years to be exact. I guess I'm a chip off the old block after all.

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