Walking In the Direction of Becoming My Mother

I knew it would happen sooner or later. It was predictable and cliché that at some point once I reached adulthood I would become my mother. I shouldn’t act like that is a dreadful thing to become. Really, it isn’t. There are far worse things that I could imagine becoming than a replica of my mother: a member of the crime scene cleaning crew, the port-a-potty collector or that person at the zoo who has the horrible task of helping an elephant with its constipation issues. If you don’t know how...