This is Where Some Type of Batsignal Would Come in Handy

I just got off the phone with my mom, who's running her first half-marathon tomorrow. First of all, I'm very proud of her. Second of all, I told her she's going to have to run next year, because she just told me that she bought a skort for the occasion. And when I went, "um... a skort?" she enthusiastically said, "it's half-skirt, half-shorts!" as though I was the one with the problem. I had to tell her that I knew what a skort was, but that I couldn't let her wear one in public in good conscience. (I wasn't mean about it, though. I said that she could wear it, but only if she was being picked up by Christopher Lloyd and taken back to the 1980s in a flying car.)

Seriously, a skort!? It's moments like these that a gay son viscerally feels every one of the thousands of miles between himself and his mother. If she starts running in LA Lights and Zubaz, I'm buying a ticket to Fargo.