Insert 3 (Revolving)
I barged into my office like a lost fart, hoping to find the lady with a tear birthmark on her right eye.
To my surprise, that isn’t the women I married.
“Mah!” totally surprised.
She smiled while widening the span of her warms.
“That isn’t a way to greet your mother!” She commanded.
With a forced grin, I fall into my mother’s embrace. Lillian Mogotsi, the women who gave birth to me and raised me to being this fine champ!
She was cut from her own set of cloth, a once off design of it if I must add politely. In accurate counting, I am her only child basically but it didn’t last for long because after my aunt, her older sister, died she took my cousin Rose in.
I don’t call Rose, my cousin, she’s my little rock star. We grew up together although I am older than her, I had to be a hunk for some point in her life yet I regret nothing because everything was worth it. She’s been a rebellion and gave my mom a few grey hairs but they are unnoticeable with her 20 year old body and the artificial black colour of her hair.
Miss Mogotsi, point of correction Jennifer isn’t the brightest spark around her. She’s always had the slim body, tugged in stomach and has never had a bit of bone even in her golden years you’d think she’s a rolling stone.
“Ma what are you doing here?” I asked.
She glanced at me through her Prada spectacles.
“And you look like you were expecting to see someone else” while sipping her tea.
I found a comfortable spot on the couch next to her.
“Me? Never, it is always a pleasure you see you.” sounding rather convincing.
Jennifer appeared.
“Sir, I am on my way and I’ve sent the flowers to your wife. Is there anything else?” she said.
I shook my head and she disappeared.
“You still sending her flowers?” my mom interrupted my thoughts.
I knew where this was going.
“Of cause she’s my wife and I want her to know that she means everything to me” I exhaled.
My mother murmured something I couldn’t catch.
“She a lucky women to have you my son.” She managed to say.
She put the empty cup on my desk as I helped her up and gathered my things and left the office, switching the lights off.
Taking the elevator to the parking load and seeing her off.
They say being raised by a single women, especially for man, they become soft. Which I highly without a doubt in the fibre of my brain disagree completely.
Me? Soft?
That doesn’t even rhyme.
I escort her to her car and kiss her cheek, something I grew up doing, call me a mommy’s baby yet that the gentle guy in me. As young boy that would be my key to leave home, that gentle embrace on her cheek.
My mom always wants to be important in my life especially and when I got married her insecurities got wounded!
She drives off and I take the highway leading home. I roll down my window and letting the cold night breeze brush of my milky coffee skin and my stubborn black hair. Now my heart is jumping with joy because I am finally going to see my pumpkin!