- Synced & corrected by MementMori - -- www.addic7ed.com --
I have a son.
He's 12.
It sounds so cliché,
but he means everything to me.
But, of course, those years of wondering if I was a failure,
the in vitro, the breech, the divorce...
I shouldn't complain. Edward does pay his fair share
and he's a great father to Jack, but...
Those bills.
I have two faces.
Jack asks me what I do for a living.
I tell him I'm a boxer.
He gets all excited by that.
He's a boy.
He wants to come to a fight, but I tell him when he's older.
In the meanwhile, he patches me up.
He's got talent, that kid.
He could be a great doctor.
Hey, Mommy's got a premonition.
Go get the earthquake bag ready and wait for me in the kitchen.
Cool, earthquake!
Remember, wait.
Listen to me, another cliché.
Chinese mom wants her Chinese kid to be a doctor.
But...
he would be great.
My clients like me because I am...
- Yeah! - unexpected.
How do you know where I live?
You stupid bitch.
5'4", close to middle age, I...
look like every other suburban soccer mom out there.
Or like any waitress, or...
like any middle class accountant.
Nobody expects me.
Not even my clients.
It wasn't my idea.
We shouldn't have hired such a crew.
I always told Jack that he could come see me box
when he became a teenager.
Thirteen.
His birthday is next month.
- Synced & corrected by MementMori - -- www.addic7ed.com --