Hey, you there. Your mama’s so big and I’ve got a thing for tall, voluptuous women. Can I have her number?
Your mama’s so old, her laugh lines got laugh lines. Which is the sign of a life well lived. Whenever she chuckles I feel my heart catch in my chest and I can’t help but giggle with her.
Your mom’s like an Uber, anyone can ride if they’ve got a working credit card. I’m sorry that was a low blow. I've just got a big crush and talking about her makes me nervous.
Your mama’s so broke she doesn’t even make cents! Which is a shame because she’s worked hard for everything in this life. She deserves someone who can take care of her, financially, spiritually, emotionally, sexually.
Your mom’s butt is so big it has its own gravitational pull, which is why I can’t look away. The second I was drawn into its orbit I knew I was a goner, doomed to crash land on the lonely, solitary planet of dat ass.
Your mama’s like a construction site: loud, messy, covered in strange men. A work in progress with so much potential that only people with artistic vision can truly see her.
Your mama is so classless, she’s a beloved fixture in her local DSA chapter. She even stays late after meetings to help fold up chairs at the community center. Change really starts from the local level and your mom just gets that.
Do you like Boston cream pies? So does your mom, she’s a wonderful baker from the Massachusetts area, and once you get to know her, you can really see how her upbringing influenced her dream of becoming a famous pastry chef. I saw a new bakery open up on my street and thought of her. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.
Your mama’s so ugly but in the way Shakespeare’s lover in “Sonnet 130” was ugly. I would never disrespect her by disingenuously comparing her beauty to a rose or the sun because your mom is so much more than that. She’s real. And when I gaze into her eyes I feel my heart overflow.
Your mama’s glasses are so thick she can’t see a good thing for what it is. I’m a man aren’t I? A man with a heart full of love and a head full of hair, aching to please her and only her. She’s ruined me for other women and I’ll always wait for her.
Your mama’s so gullible she took a chance on love and for one perfect night we were together. Two souls merging as one, twin flames connected by the heat of white, hot passion. Let me be clear: last night I was intimate with your mom. And she just texted to tell me she had a nice time.
Your mother is so scary, when she tried to have an honest conversation about our relationship I ran. Because love and intimacy scare me. Being vulnerable scares me. And your mama makes me feel held like a baby bird.
Your mom’s so confusing, but only within the confines of patriarchal societies that typically don’t allow for the complexity of women. She’s as deep as the Mariana trench and her interior world knows no bounds. I know I messed up when I ran but I can’t get her out of my head. My very soul is electric with the spark of yo' mama.
Your mama’s so strict, her personal boundaries are immaculate. She made it very clear what she expected from me as a partner. And I find that kind of self-assurance so healthy and refreshing.
Your mama’s my whole world and we’re getting married next spring. It would mean a lot if you could be there.
Is it ok if I call you “son”?