Now if only the same could be said for Diana Ying.
Mike rubbed the bite mark on his left arm. Diana was so sweet, that if they made an action figure of her, it would come with an insulin shot. But when she went crazy, she was a maniac.
Keeping up with Diana was emotionally draining for Mike. Keeping up with Mike was physically draining for Diana. So they complemented each other in some weird way.
Mike hadn't had time to check if her farewell bite had left a mark under the sleeve of his Black Sabbath t-shirt. Mama Stone had wanted to go to Makro, so Mike obliged his old lady. Mama Stone locked the front gate of the house and made her way to the car.
She seemed preoccupied with her shopping list - the scribbling on which only she could read. However, as soon as she got into the front passenger seat, she looked up from the white piece of paper. She took a whiff of the air and paused.
"What's her name?" she asked, looking back to the shopping list.
"Huh?..." Mike's eyes widened. "Who you talking about, ma?" he asked, innocently.
"The girl you brought in the car." she responded flatly, eyes still scrolling down the list.
Mike sneaked a glance into the back seat to see if Diana was actually hiding back there. She wasn't.
What the hell? How could she possibly know?
"...Nobody in our family uses Clairol Herbal Essence." Mama Stone said, looking up at Mike. She was still waiting for an answer.
All Indian women must become bloodhounds the moment they give birth.
