Mom Gets Marked

As I emptied the laundry basket onto my mother's bed, I was playing the new Chappell Roan album and dancing by myself to the beat. "Now we're knee deep in the passenger seat...," I lip synced as I twirled around the room. I hate folding clothes, but I was in a great mood, knowing that I was only a week away from finally returning to college for my sophomore year after taking an unexpected gap year.

I was warming my hands in the pile of laundry, still toasty from the dryer, when it occurred to me that the clothing tells so much of my story. There are two sets of women's clothes, all the same size, but otherwise nothing aike. That's my mom and me. Physically, we look astonishingly similar. The old cliché really does hold true: she could be my sister. We are both tall and slender with bright blue eyes, perfect teeth, full lips and dirty blonde hair -- even though mine is dyed pink at the moment. We're basically twins. Mom had me when she was exactly my age, 21, and it seems that she hasn't aged a day since.

Even still, mom's style could not be further from mine. I dress like the college-aged baddie that I am: short shorts, mini skirts, go-go boots, body-hugging halter tops -- I have a cute, feminine aesthetic. Ellie, on the other hand, dresses like a frumpy old lady. Loose sweat pants, unflattering jeans, baggy sweaters. Sometimes I think my mother is 42 going on 70. I wear lacy silk underwear and thongs. She wears granny parties -- one of the reasons why I have dubbed her "Boomer," the other being her doltish incompetence with computers.

Since I wouldn't be caught dead wearing any of her old lady clothes, sorting the laundry is easy. Even the bras are easy to sort now that we no longer wear the same size. My mother and I both have that classic, hourglass figure, but while we are both generously endowed, my breasts are just big. Hers are massive. Ever since mom had my baby brother Tyler two and a half years ago, her breasts have grown fuller and even firmer. It feels weird saying this about my mother, but it's true: she has incredible tits. Mom never flaunts her big rack, but she doesn't need to: even buried under sweatshirts and sweaters, her breasts draw covetous looks from both men and women wherever she goes. She calls them her "nursers" because of how much Tyler enjoys breast feeding. She even told me that his constant suckling, both for sustenance and for comfort, has made her nipples more sensitive than ever.

Tyler is the most beautiful little creature in the entire world in my eyes -- and, of course, in my mother's. We both love him fiercely. He was an "oops baby" that Ellie never intended to have at age 40, especially not when her marriage was already on the rocks, but he is the best thing that ever happened to our family. Mom loves to hug us both at the same time, saying, "Jessica and Tyler, my two biggest blessings." The slack-jawed gawkers always staring at my mom's boobs would probably disagree with that, but of course I love hearing it.

Sadly, my mom never mentions a third blessing because she doesn't have one. My dad is no longer in the picture. My parents split up as soon as Tyler was born, which is why adorable little onesies are the only men's clothing in the laundry today -- and every day. Dad was an alcoholic who had emotionally checked out years before they actually divorced, but it all came to a head when Tyler was born. Dad didn't even attend the birth. By that point, things had deteriorated so badly that he just dropped mom at the hospital and drove himself straight to a bar. Ellie hasn't been on a single date since the divorce and I bet she hasn't got laid since Tyler was conceived. It is time for her.

I have tried before to get my mother back onto the dating scene, but without success. I think my asshole father did a real number on the poor woman. Plus, mom can't work a smart phone to save her life, so dating apps would only confuse her. I don't call her "Boomer" for nothing.

Mom never even shows any interest in men, probably because she has so little time for a social life. Between raising Tyler as a single mother and working full-time as a bookkeeper, the woman has a lot of responsibility on her perfectly-sculpted shoulders. I try to help out where she needs it. And right now, I think she needs help dipping a toe back in the dating pool. I've been living at home for the past year, but now that I'm going back to college, I don't want her to be alone and lonely. My mom is still young and vibrant and she deserves a partner who keeps her feeling that way.

After I finished folding and putting away the laundry, I decided that I would build an enticing dating profile for mom -- one that really showcases her amazing, attractive qualities -- and try to get her back out there. She is way too vivacious and beautiful to become a sad old spinster at age 42.

I don't have any experience using dating apps. I met all my partners IRL. I had a few boyfriends in high school and then I experimented a bit when I went to college, hooking up with girls. I wouldn't say I'm bisexual, but I'm curious and exploring. "Gay for the stay," so to speak. Maybe I'm a "BUG" - bi until graduation. In any event, my mother seems strictly heterosexual, so I focused my search on apps catering to middle-aged single women looking to date single men.

It took some searching to find the right app for mom. A lot of dating apps are just for people looking for a quick hook up. My mother is far too prudish for that. She would probably faint if some rando fuck boi sent her a dick pic. No, no, Ellie needs a gentleman looking to court a lady. That eliminated a bunch of options. Then I eliminated a few more dating apps because they require the woman to make the first move. I know Ellie and she doesn't have it in her to ask a man out on a date. She thinks it is the man's job to initiate. "It isn't a woman's place," she would say. Like I said, my mother may look much younger than 42, but she acts much older. She's not religious, but she's just... traditional. Fuck, you'd never suspect the woman actually works outside the home. She is such a stereotypical homemaker -- the little woman who should be barefoot in the kitchen with a baby in her belly as she waits for her man to come home for dinner.

When I finally found the right app for my mother to join, I started work on her profile. This was the fun part. Ellie is a pretty, voluptuous blonde with a cute laugh and a lust for life. She is a treasure and I want to help her find a man who treats her like one. I was determined to make her profile shine as brightly as she does.

That's why I decided to tell nothing but the truth as I wrote mom's profile. Everyone embellishes on these apps, but I wanted to do the opposite and keep it a buck. I wanted mom to stand out from the pack, like a shimmering oasis of womanly virtue in a desert of spray-tanned Instagram thots. Mom doesn't need eyelash extensions, wigs, colored contact lenses, fillers, filters, or any of that bullshit and she certainly doesn't need to lie about herself to attract a man. In a world of frozen Botox smiles and silicone tits, mom is the real deal, a gorgeous specimen of all-natural womanhood, and I wanted her profile to capture that.

"Are you a man who wants it all?" I wrote, smiling to myself. What man doesn't want it all? "Well I've got it. The only thing I'm missing is you. I'm a fun, funny, single mother with a joie de vivre. I enjoy cappuccino, karaoke, classic rock, and baseball games at night under the lights. Whether it's cooking a special dinner or snuggling under a blanket for movie night, I can keep things hot in the kitchen and the bedroom. If you're ready to sweep me off my feet, slide into my DMs."

That last line is so cringe, but it makes me laugh anyhow because mom couldn't tell you what a "DM" is if her life depended on it. That's just the Boomer in her. The woman has probably had five iPhones over the years, maybe more, but she still can't work the damn thing, which is why I set up her profile with my cell phone number. That way, I can be the one to text back and forth with her potential suitors. I can weed out the sketchy losers for her. And if I find a promising candidate, I won't have to worry that Ellie will scare him off because she has the text game of someone who is clearly more comfortable using a rotary phone.

As I read over the profile, I hesitated over the word "mother." Did I really want to include the fact that she's a single parent in Ellie's dating profile? I wanted this to be truthful, but maybe that was a little too truthful? Anyone who takes Ellie on a first date will soon learn that she has kids, I rationalized, so let's just stay focused on getting her that first date. I changed the word "mother" to "blonde." Now anyone reading Ellie's profile would have the chance to see her first as a beautiful and alluring woman, which she certainly is, before finding out that she is divorced with children. The profile was still the truth, I decided, even if wasn't the whole truth.

With the profile written, it was time for the fun part: choosing what photos to post. I scrolled through my phone, looking for the most flattering pictures of my mother. Mom is effortlessly beautiful and looks good in every photo, but I was looking for la crème de la crème. I wanted photos that are well-lit, feature mom alone, focus on her face, and show just a bit of upper body. And I wanted photos in which she is well-dressed with her hair and make up done, not looking dowdy in a pair of mom sweats or something like that. Don't get me wrong: no one looks prettier than my mom does even when she first wakes up and her hair is a mess. But that's not the vibe for dating profile pics. Unfortunately, that eliminated a lot of photos right there. As a working single mom, Ellie is usually harried, frazzled and too tired to glow up and pose for glam shots.

It took me an hour of scrolling through my phone, but finally I struck paydirt. It was a picture of mom from about five years ago, before Tyler was born. She was still with dad then, and no doubt feeling the weight of a loveless marriage, but in this photo she looked joyful and free. The summer sun shimmered on her blonde hair as it spilled out from under a cute straw hat, the broad brim acting as the perfect frame for her angelic face. She was smiling wide, but it wasn't for the camera -- it was just a candid moment that captured her beauty at its peak. I made this mom's thumbnail pic for her dating app account and the first image in her photo carousel. This was the woman I wanted men to see: open-hearted, happy, and radiant. It was a stunning photo of an even more stunning woman.

The app allowed me to upload four more photos, unless I wanted to pay for the "platinum package," in which case they are unlimited. As a broke college kid, however, that was out of the question. Five photos would have to suffice.

The second image I chose was from the fall. Ellie's hair was pulled back into a tight braided ponytail and she was wearing a pumpkin-spice colored flannel from the Gap that was giving major basic bitch energy. But no one can make the classics look as good as my mother. Most supermodels would sacrifice a baby to Moloch to look as hot as Ellie does in this photo. Like Usher says, "On a 1 to 10, she's a cerfified 20."

Searching for the third photo, I decided to stick with the "seasonal" theme and pick one from the winter. I had to scroll back a ways before Sam was born, but I found a fantastic shot of my mother skiing. She is wearing a heavy ski suit, which hides her big rack, but her helmet is off, showing her megawatt smile, her shining blue eyes, and her wavy blonde hair, gently blowing in the wind, making her look like the ultimate snow bunny. I know I look just like my mother, but I swear I'm not trying to compliment myself when I say she looks beautiful in these photos. I am just stating the obvious. The camera loves her.

I was thrilled with my photo selections so far, but they set the bar high for the next one. As I scrolled through my phone hunting for a picture for spring, I knew it wouldn't be easy to top that timeless shot I found for winter. But spring has a secret weapon: it's the start of sundress season. With her long legs, snatched waist and huge bust, Ellie slays in a sundress. And just like that, I came across a perfect example. This one was from last spring and it showed Ellie in an cutesy, flowing sundress with a matching headband. The dress was modest, like my sweet mother herself. It was made from a light, airy fabric, white with yellow trim, and it was long on the bottom and buttoned all the way up to the top, enveloping mom's body like a warm hug. She looked amazing. I dragged the photo over to the carousel and dropped it in. This profile was shaping up nicely.

Speaking of shaping up nicely, a naughty idea crossed my mind. Now that I had a pic for each season, maybe I should use that fifth and final slot in the carousel for a bathing suit shot -- something that would really flaunt mom's hot bod. My mother doesn't normally wear revealing clothing and even her bathing suits are mostly full-coverage one pieces, but I was confident that I could scrounge up a sexy bikini shot somewhere. It took some work, and I had to scroll back through several years of photos, but eventually I found just what I wanted. Mom was wearing a skimpy white two-piece that showed off her spectacular figure. Her eyes were hidden behind oversized sunglasses, giving her an air of mystery, and she had a playful smirk on her face as she posed with her arms tight by her side, hands resting on her thighs, which pressed her big, beautiful breasts together and thrust them towards the camera. I know she's my mom, but goddamn! This dating profile might break the fucking internet.

When I was done, I considered spellchecking the text I wrote, but I thought better of it. Mom wasn't a great speller, so if there was a typo, that just made her profile all the more fitting. Besides, somehow I doubt that men care about how well mom writes -- especially after they see how well she rocks a bikini. You can find a brainy chick anywhere. But like Bill Murray says in that bowling movie, "It's a small world when you've got unbelievable tits." Well, I mused to myself, the world was about to get even smaller. My mom is back in the game. I hit "submit" on her dating profile.

I was so excited to help my mother find love again that I could actually feel the microburst of dopamine hit me when her profile went live on the app. I kept staring at my phone, convinced that the deluge of texts from eligible bachelors would begin any second. But nothing happened and, after awhile, I decided to just go on with my day. I had a lot to do to get ready for school in a week. The texts would come.

The first volley of texts hit my phone later that night, after I had worked out, cooked dinner for mom, cleaned up afterwards, finished registering for my first semester classes, and made a list of things to take back with me to Beaver State, After all that, I was ready to just chill on the couch and surf my phone. Managing mom's new dating profile was the perfect way to turn off my brain and unwind. I poured myself a mug of hot decaf chamomile tea and opened the app, finding ten new messages. I smiled. I knew mom has what every man wants and now she has them lining up.

In that moment, I was proud of my mother, but as soon as I read the texts, I just felt pity for her. No wonder the woman showed so little interest in dating. Men suck. Out of her first ten text messages, eight accused her of being a "bot," a "plant," a "catfish" or an "NPC." The ninth text was not even dating-related; it was an invitation to buy some new crypto currency. Commecial solicitation is supposed to be banned on this dating app but this one somehow slipped through. The tenth text was just a simple question. Johnny_99 texted, "How much?" How much?! Jesus Christ, Johnny_99, my mother isn't a fucking prostitute. I deleted all of these stupid texts.

Ellie must have heard me sighing because she came and joined me on the couch. She didn't say anything at first, she just looked at me adoringly with those big blue eyes and threw an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into her warm, soft body. She even smelled amazing, I thought to myself as I put down my phone and cuddled up next to her. Any one of those idiots could have been in my position if he had taken my mother on a proper date.

"So... I can see you're happy to be going back to school," my mother finally spoke.

"Bet," I replied emphatically. "I can't wait! But you know I'm going to miss you and Tyler. I hate that I won't get to see him everyday."

"Don't you worry, sweetheart," my mother said reassuringly. "Tyler and I will FaceTime you every day if you want."

I didn't want to make fun of the Boomer, but sometimes she just made it too easy to resist. "Oh really?" I asked, pretending to be confused. "And who is going to figure out how to use the FaceTime app? it better be Tyler because we both know it won't be you!"

As soon as I said it, all I could hear was mom's cute little laugh ringing in my ears. She may not know how to do much with her smartphone, but my mother certainly knows how to laugh at herself. She doesn't take life too seriously and whereas my humor tends to be biting and sarcastic, hers is gentle and self-effacing. Hearing her adorable giggling filled me with happiness and I sank contentedly into her embrace.

Without taking my head off her shoulder, I told my mother about the classes for which I had registered. I am a Gender Studies major, but this semester I also managed to squeeze in an accounting class, which I knew my mom would appreciate. She listened to me while her delicate hands stroked my hair, a gentle reminder of how pleased she is that I'm taking at least one class with some practical application in the real world. My parents' divorce destroyed their finances, which is why I was forced to take a year off, and I know my mom has worked her ass off in that bookkeeping job, without any help from my deadbeat father, to scrape together enough money to send me back to Beaver State. She doesn't want to see me throw that all away on a "useless" degree. I get it. I don't agree that studying intersectionality, queer identity formation and critical race theory is useless, but I know that many women of my mother's generation fail into the trap of internalized misogyny. Not that I would say that to her. She's paying for me to get that Gender Studies degree, so I always try to show respect and gratitude.

As mom continued lightly grooming me, our conversation turned to the new roommate with whom I'd be sharing a dorm. "Have you called her?" Mom asked me.

"Um, no, Ma. People don't call anymore. We just text. And yes, I've been texting her."

My mom laughed again. "Ok," she said. "As long as you have been in touch. What's her name?"

"August," I said.

"August?" Ellie asked. I made a silent little bet with myself about what my mother would ask next and I wasn't wrong. "That's a girl's name?"

Thankfully my mother couldn't see me roll my eyes because I couldn't help myself. "Yes, mother," I said with what I hoped was only a hint of condescension. "August is a girl's name. Anything can be a girl's name."

"Oh, well, I suppose," Ellie replied in that matronly way that made her seem older than her 42 years.

"Anyway," I continued, softening my tone a bit, "August and I have been in touch. She's bringing a mini-fridge, a TV, surround sound speakers, an espresso machine... lots of stuff. Our room is going to be sick!"

"I'm so happy for you, sweetheart," mom said, meaning every word of it.

"Well," I said, seeing an opening, "since you're in such a good mood, I have something to tell you."

"Oh yeah?" Mom said nonchalantly, as she massaged my temples. "What's that?"