3 // burn the homos!

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I watched my mom hobble around our apartment as if she'd been shot by an elephant-poacher. Which would be funny, considering she had just gotten back from her mission trip to Africa three days ago.

"Mom? You okay?" Slightly concerned, I met her at the kitchen counter. "Did you get pregnant while you were gone and not tell me?"

She laughed, voice low.

"No, Emily..." Trailing off, she looked me in the eye and sighed sadly. "I got punched in the vagina today."

"Was it a botched abortion?"

"Oh, shut the hell up." She straightened up and rolled her eyes. "Also, watch the language. And tone. You're sassing me."

I stared blankly at her.

"I still can't believe you dyed your hair while I was gone," Mindlessly chattering on, she threw my pink mop-head a look of loathing. "You look like a... a -"

"A what?" I twirled a strand of bubblegum pink hair, holding it protectively. 

"A lesbian."

"Oh no!" Gasping, I faked horror. "Not the lesbians! Anything but!"

"You're not really a lesbian? Right? You know they're going to hell, Emmy, all the homos are."

I laughed. 

She could wear all the fibers she wanted to and smoke all she could and swear like a sailor, but she had never once been remotely okay with gay people.

"Totes, mom. Totes." 

"Amen."

If that wasn't awkward, I didn't know what was. 

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