The day was sunny, with a breeze just strong enough to blow back long locks and whip skirts around knee caps.
Monty and his mother were out in the park, eating mustard and lemon curd sandwiches and flicking raisins to the stray children lingering near a see-saw.
Monty loved his mother. He thought she was the epitome of femininity, with her tautly coiled pin-curls, high-heels that made her legs soar to the heavens like a pair of nylon’d beanstalks, and perfectly starched floral a-line dresses. He loved bringing home kids from school so they could see how much better his mother was, with well-placed smudges of flour layered delicately upon her rouge cheekbones, reminding everyone that she was the state champion in zucchini bread-baking while the rest of the mommies could barely toast a slice of bread without exploding their crack den. Monty would secretly smirk knowing those downtrodden kids would go home later to their river rat mommies who barked out obscenities in a smoker’s croak and left dime store lipstick prints on their chipped mugs of Sanka.
“Go get the frisbee from the car, Monty!” his mother sang out, smoothing out the back of her tulip’d skirt as she stood.
Just then, a vigorous gust of wind blew through the meadow, pummeling his mother’s skirt into her face.
The kids by the see-saw burst into a taunting orchestra as Monty learned that his mother was not quite a woman after all.