Your mother sits on the sofa, flicking through TV channels, studiously avoiding your gaze and acting as though your cry of confusion was nothing out of the ordinary. "Yes, dear?"
Your brain grinds gears. "But... You... How... When I went to Uni you specifically told me not to go near any TF stuff!" you remind her indignantly.
She smiles nervously. "Did I say that? Yes. Well... I might have got a little done around the eyes. See, Margaret across the road had these wonderful antlers-"
"That's not a little! You look twenty years younger!"
"Twenty five, actually. They called it a chronectomy. Although when you think about it I haven't really changed," she stated defensively. "Not really. I'm still me. Just a little younger. Honestly, this is nothing compared to what your-"
She bit her tongue a second too late. You groan. "Nothing compared to who?"
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