It was my mama.Mama: “Let me in the house. Let me in the house.”Tiffany: “I’m not letting you in this house.”Mama: “It’s my mama’s house. You let me in the
goddam house!”Tiffany: “I’m not letting you in this house, Mom. Like,
you need to go somewhere. Go to Grandma’s house,
but I’m not letting you in this house.”Mama: “This is my mama’s house! She own it!”Tiffany: “I’m not letting you in. I’m about to go. I gotta
go to an event, anyways.”I walked out the house with my short little skirt on.Mama: “Where do you think you’re going with that
short-ass skirt? You trying to get pregnant out here?
You out here being a prostitute?”Tiffany: “No Ma, I was just going to an event, so leave
me alone. Just leave me alone.”She had this long rearview mirror in her hand.
Remember in the eighties, when they had them long,
detachable rearview mirrors that had the smaller individual