I knew this day would come. I knew I couldn’t hide it forever. I mean, there are pictures, for crying out loud. You can never escape photos of yourself. Monkey Boy was bound to find out. I just didn’t know he would be this young. How is he supposed to process information like that about his own mother when he’s such a little boy?
It was all so innocent too. We’re going to have a Super Bowl party tomorrow. I’m cleaning and decorating. It’s what I do. Monkey Boy saw me bringing things down out of the attic. His general curiosity was piqued. “What are you doing? What’s that? Where did it come from?”
The answers were hard to spit out, “Those are pom poms. They’re Mommy’s.” He looked confused, “Why do you have those?”
It was then I had to confess the awful truth: Mommy has pom poms because she knows how to use them. On the day we check him into rehab because he’s using hard drugs, the doctors and therapists will trace his downfall to this day. I just know it.