I got that from my mama – a short story –

She notices the bright warm light cascading through the window, touching random objects in her bedroom. As she sits on the bed enjoying a lazy summer afternoon, the sun illuminates her chest and she feels sensual, almost aroused. With her right hand she opens the camera on her phone and sets it on selfie mode. The image on the screen is provocative, inviting, just as an Instagram selfie should be. Or not, according to her best friend who told her on a few occasions that she might be revealing a little too much skin to strangers. And you don’t want that when you’re single, it just sends the wrong message. One of her male colleagues seems to share the same opinion, she clearly understood that from his not-so-subtle innuendos at work.

The sun continues to explore her body, all the way up to her chin and glossy lips. How are they supposed to take you seriously when they have access to your material self? Our digital profiles don’t quite advertise the inner beauty, her yoga instructor once told her, with the best intentions, as she insisted to point out at least three times during that awkward conversation. Exhausted, she puts her smartphone down, frowning at her own thoughts.

At that very moment the door opens smoothly. Halfway through the door her teenage daughter stops and waves. All dressed up, she looks like she’s in a hurry.
The mother’s frown accentuates to the point she looks mean.

– Are you going to the movies with your friends? Or are you going to hook up with a rapist? Have you no shame?

For a split second, the girl’s eyes glimmer with surprise, then she looks down, staring at the void, like she’s about to write some resignation letter. Her presence, fluid, not yet ashamed, marches out of her mother’s sight.