The pretty blonde on the couch smiles. "You noticed then, huh? Sharp as a tack, you are. Glad to see that University education is paying off," she says sarcastically.
"Wha- You're not her. Who are you?" You recognise that devious grin. "Dad?!"
"Right again, son. Although the body is your mother's," she says, cupping one of her pert breasts beneath the kitchen apron with a look of delight. "What do you reckon? Best damn ten thousand dollars I ever spent if you ask me. Wanna feel?"
"No! Where is she? Real mom."
"Oh, she's round back with your sister. Sure you don't want a go? You don't know what you're missiiiing," she goads, grabbing her breasts in both hands and squeezing.
Ignoring her, you storm out the kitchen door into the back garden. Your mother is there, middle-aged, normal; as ever, a reassuring, stable rock in a hectic, confusing world. She is screaming at a small bush.
"Don't you ignore me! I raised you! Seventeen years I raised you and I'll be damned if it ends like this!"
To your alarm, its branches quivering like a high wind is blowing through it, the bush retorts in Tessa's voice. "I hate you! I hate my life! Leave me alone! Just because I don't want to kill to survive! All I need is the sun and the soil and the rain."
"You'll get your father's pruning shears if you don't march yourself back to the clinic and get this fixed right this instant," your mother replies darkly. She notices you there and, throwing her hands up despairingly, says, "You try talking some sense into her," before stomping into the house, leaving you standing alone in the garden with a talking shrub.
"... Tess?" The bush sits there in sullen silence. "What on earth have you done to yourself?"
"Only freed myself from the circle of death that is the food chain," it replies haughtily.
"What was wrong with vegetarianism?"
"Plants have feelings too!"
You considering refuting that but rather take the opportunity to prod the bush with your foot. "Guess you're right," you smile, as it gives a pained yelp.