After my mom and dad’s divorce, my mom, my cute-as-a-button irresistible little mom, insisted she needed help learning how to date again. Well, obviously, I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but before I could ask my mom to elaborate, my wife, as was her habit, volunteered me, of all people, to help my mom. I guffawed, like I’d never guffawed before, thinking the whole thing was some bad joke. Then, I realized, holy fuck, they were not joking. Not at all. I gulped. My first instinct was to tell them both to kindly fuck off. But, then my Mother Theresa-side shined through, and I told myself, why not. Why couldn’t I help my mom learn how to date again? Sure, I was never an avid dater, even when I was single, but, eh, what the fuck. I could do this. However, it wasn’t long before I was telling myself, holy fuck, I think I’m dating my cute-as-a-button irresistible little mom.