My Mother

There's a lady in my house, who looks just like me, talks just like me, moves just like me. We swear we're not related; you want to prove anything, go get a blood test. She didn't give birth to me, fifteen years ago, I don't belong to her; I need to stop following her. She acts as if this name I've given her is somehow alien and foreign to her. So sometimes she simply goes by "lady". We often disagree, but since she thinks like me, (sometimes) and I might know why. She swears I showed up on her doorstep, in a basket, and never left. Especially when I mess up, act goofy or make dumb mistakes, she swears I'm not her child. But any guest, visitor or passerby who sees us, knows right away, undoubtedly, that this lady, who lives in my house, looks just like me, moves just like me, and talks just like me, is none other than my mother.