Happy Mother’s Day

Sexy Drunk Christians: Chapter 3 Seeing the Light Part 38

My mother died in 1988. She was a lifetime smoker and she had skinny legs and big boobs. She drank too much but was always sweet and loving, generous and kind at least to me. And she protected me from my dad’s anger, rage and frustrations as best she could.

I was the kind of kid who wore black tee-shirts and black jeans and would have loved to have owned and carried with me a hand-grenade disguised as something else, like a little bottle of something hidden in the wrap of my fingers and behind my body when I walked past women who perhaps unconsciously reminded me of my mother. I dunno. I know this is a stretch, but WTF it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow and I don’t know what else to say.