
Deep in our nation’s capital, Mike Pence and his mother/wife/partner in God’s warm light, Karen, are standing in front of a giant cross, hands reaching towards each other, a respectable 4 to 5 inches of space between their flesh. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mother,” Pence whispers.
What their celebration will entail is a mystery—four hours of prayer? Ten burpees over the splayed pages of an open Bible, followed by four chaste air pecks in the vicinity of a cheek, maybe? Who can say?
Happy day, Mother. Happy day.

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To make Mother happy, keep her close.

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Give her a vegetable to feed to a new friend.

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Press your waxen face against her cheek and make kisses. “Yes, Mother. No, Mother. Mother!!”

DISCUSSION
At first when I heard Pence referred to her as Mother, I thought, “Well maybe they’re just those annoying parents who call each other Mom and Dad because their whole lives are their kids.”
But then I learned more about Mike Pence. And then the whole thing got weird in a different way. They probably attend MotherBoy together every year without any children.