My mother liked to get scratch-off lottos from a stationery store in this strip mall and occasionally I would drive her and wait outside in the car while she got her gamble on.
On one such occasion, I took a good look at this "store," Blanche. I started thinking, "What could this be?" There was no visible advertisement to clue me in, so I went down the nefarious route. By the time my mom got back to the car, I was convinced Blanche was a massage parlor.
Me: Mom, that storefront ain't right.
Mom: Yeah, it is odd, isn't it?
Me: I think something fishy is going on in there. You should go in and see what that's all about.
Before you think I was sending my mother into harm's way, you have to know one thing about her: If there's business you need done, Mom's your gal. If something's sketchy -- she's gonna get to the bottom of it and she's gonna report it to the proper authorities. In other words, Mom's got balls. Genetically, these balls were not passed on to me. I am, as they say, ball-less.
Mom: I'll go in. I don't care.
Me: Go ahead. I'm curious as to what's going on in there.
Mom: OK.
Me: No, wait. I dunno. Maybe it's better you don't.
Mom: Why?
Me: It looks too suspicious. Let's ask around first.
Mom: OK.
Months later, I was driving a friend and long-time resident of Massapequa home. We passed by the strip mall and Blanche's was "open for business."
Me: Just what the hell is that place anyway?
Friend: Oh, that? It's a gay bar.
Me: OH, MY GOD. I almost sent my mom in there to find out what kind of place that was.
Friend: Awk-ward.
In hindsight, I shoulda sent her in. Mom's always been pro-gay rights, so she probably would have just sat down at the bar and made a few new friends. Viva la Blanche's!
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