"Both?" In my best Ricky Ricardo voice, I exclaim, "Lucy! You have some splainin' to do!"

McSexy smirks. "Karma. My mom insists it's as real as it gets."

Of course it's as real as it gets—caramel is life!

"Does your mom like caramel sauce on her naughty bites?"

"Excuse me?" McSexy blushes. With an uncomfortable chuckle, he adds, "I don't want to know anything about the karma of my mom's naughty bits!"

It takes a moment for the 1970's processor inside my brain to catch up with our conversation. When my thoughts are finally autocorrected to accurately comprehend McSexy's original comment, my face turns maraschino cherry red—the look is anything but saucy.

"Karma! You said, KARMA!" I cover my ears to highlight my failure to translate my native language. "I struggle with English. My brain insists all conversations have something to do with food."

"Oh, thank, God!" McSexy exhales a sigh of relief. "For a second there, I thought you were using one of my mom's mind tricks."

"Mind tricks?"

"The one where she magically flips the topic of conversation behind a veil of ditzy'ness—making conversations about my personal life more comfortable to discuss than her sex life."

"Well—sounds like something I'd be a natural at," I admit.

"Every. Single. Time."

"Every single time?"

"My mom tricks me into spilling private details. Every. Single. Time."

"Does she work for the FBI? MI6? KGB? NNNN?"

"NNNN?"

"Nosey neighbors need news."

McSexy leans back in the chair and crosses his arms across his chest. He looks away for a moment, then returns his attention back towards me with a wink.

"Your sense of humor. You could be my mom's twin."

Awesome, I sulk in silence. Those are the words every single woman wants to hear from an attractive man.

"That's—great," I reply.

"My mom's long, lost twin." McSexy shakes his head. "There's no other way to explain why I'm telling you all this stuff about myself."

"So there's a law?" I ask, redirecting our conversation away from the topic of being pushed out of the same womb on the same day as his mother. "Reflections? Karma?"

"Yes!" Again, McSexy straightens up in the chair. "Law of Mirrors has three parts."

"Three parts vodka with a dash of cosmos—and you have a Karmapolitan." McSexy has a quizzical expression, causing the last part of my joke to trail off into a whisper. "Shaken. Not stirred." After catching the millionth fake cough in my arm, I add, "What's the first part of the law?"

"If a person sees a reflection in you—"

"Like in sunglasses?" I interrupt. "Or patent, pleather pants?"

McSexy laughs. "Too many Karmapolitans this evening?"

He understood my joke! "I'm just naturally inebriated," I reply. "But seriously—what do you mean by someone seeing a reflection?"

"They see a personality trait or a quality about you they can label. Outgoing. Generous. Controlling Gossipy."

"Inebriated," I continue. "Airhead. Impatient. Clearly my Karmapolitans need less vodka."

McSexy grins. "It's not like that. You'll see in a minute—if you let me finish!"

With one hand clasped over my mouth, I swirl my other hand in a rolling motion to encourage my dapper teacher—formally known as soul mate—to continue with his lesson.

"The law says if you see and label something in another person, but they don't understand what you're talking about—the trait or quality you're seeing is in you, not them. AKA—the reflection."

"That doesn't make sense," I argue. "What if you're simply describing a person's personality? I mean, someone could be a judgmental bitch—but a catty Barbie wouldn't necessarily see herself that way—so you're just—"

"Oh," I drawl, a lightbulb inside my head flickering like a back-alley streetlamp. Like when I misinterpreted PamPam's sadness for superficial Barbie behavior? "Sometimes we see things that aren't there."

"Apparently," McSexy replies. "We're wired to be self-centered."

"So you're saying everyone's an asshole?"

"No. I'm saying everyone's centered around their own personal asshole."

"But some people are selfless," I counter.

"By self-centered, I don't mean selfish," he clarifies. "I mean we can only see things from a single point of view. Even when we're being selfless—we're seeing our selflessness from a single point of view. Or if we're attempting to understand perspectives different than our own—we're seeing our attempt to understand different perspectives from a single perspective—our own."

"Not enough vodka in my Karmapolitan to pick up what you're throwing down," I joke.

"I'm kidding." Switching from a lighthearted vibe to a more serious one, I ask, "Did your mom think you had the wrong idea about PamPam?"

"PamPam?"

"Please let me call her PamPam," I beg.

McSexy snickers. "Okay—"

"Could your conclusion of PamPam's reflection been wrong?"

"I don't think so," McSexy responds. "Surely my favorite assistant told you about the supply closet."

"I will not confirm that."

"Pam was caught in the supply closet with the surgeon," he affirms. "Apparently dating a nurse wasn't prestigious enough for her."

An image pops up in my mind—

"But it doesn't make sense," I challenge. "Something about your conclusion of PamPam is off."

"What part?"

"I don't know—but I see myself in her," I disclose. "Trust me—something isn't right. I'd never, never, never trade true love for power and prestige. I don't think she would either."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I can see it in her eyes. Emptiness. Cruelness. She's lost as hell and can't find her way home. I know that look when I see it. I see it every day when I stand in front of a mirror."

After a moment of silence, I continue, "A wise old lady once told me everything has different truths from countless angles. This love triangle probably looks vastly different from PamPam's point of view."

"What are you getting at?" McSexy asks.

The image flashes in my mind again and I see it—

—and I can hear Ex-Bot's words inside my head from our session with CounselPuff. "We used to reflect back our best selves to each other. Now when I look at you, I only see a mirror image of my worst self. I'm sorry, but I need a new mirror. You don't reflect back an image I like anymore."

"It wasn't me," I whisper. He was seeing himself, not me.

"What?" McSexy questions.

"It wasn't you," I reply. "The situation with PamPam has absolutely nothing to do with you."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I'm not sure," I confess. "It's some sort of unknown gut feeling, I guess. What's the second law?"

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

It's starting to connect. I kid you not--I had no idea how I was going to tie all this stuff together--so even I'm excited to see past moments resurface with big meaning. (Note: did you see the Ex-Bot ghosts in the Marilyn Gif?)

MUSIC: Beyonce. Naughty Girl. Naughty bits or naughty bites? It's all the same.

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!

MarilynHepburn.com

(This is a second edit chapter)