There are other mothers — this a a certainty as certain as certainty is certain, I think.
Maybe even other mothers for me.
Not to be my mother, I mean, but to be my mother. The woman who’ll mother the child I father.
And I would be her father’s son-in-law.
If we got married.
Take, for example, that attractive mother at the break fast after the final shofar blast of yesterday’s Yom Kippur service. Whose wife she was I didn’t know. I also, therefore, didn’t know whose mother she was. But she was very motherly. Like, you know, the way mothers are when you see them.
I enjoyed talking to her, that’s for certain. And she wasn’t anybody’s mother (or wife), it seemed to turn out. So, when she said she hoped she’d run into me again, I didn’t want to ruin things. I played it cool. No need to…
View original post 57 more words