Get ready for the day.

After a nice, satisfying early-morning screw, you bid goodbye to your boy toy, and tell him he was wonderful. He leaves, dreamy-eyed, and still as unknown to you as he was an hour ago.

After closing the door behind him, you smooth your see-through negligee, and walk to your bathroom to get ready for the day. The door is locked, and with some irritation, you knock on it. You have three bathrooms in this place, and this one is supposed to be reserved for you, but that rarely seems to work out.

“Just a minute,” comes the voice of one of your sons from inside. Bryan or Aron — you can’t tell which one from the voice. You hear movement in the bathroom and momentarily the door opens to a cloud of steam, the fresh smell of soap, and a teenage boy with wet, unruly hair, with a towel around his waist. He greets you with a smile, a kiss on the cheek, and the words, “Good morning, Mom,” before heading down the hall toward the bedrooms.

You still can’t tell whether that is Aron or Bryan. They are identical in appearance, and they still delight in tricking people by assuming each other’s identity.

You are about to step into the bathroom, but someone else steps out first. You have no idea who this guy is, but the fact that it is a man answers the question of which of your sons you just saw. It had to be Bryan. The guy who exits the bathroom after him is also wet and wrapped only in a towel. He says, “Hi” to you a little awkwardly and then hurries after Bryan.

You watch the two of them disappear behind Bryan’s door, and you can’t help but admire Bryan’s taste in men. This fellow’s muscular arms and chest, 5 o’clock shadow, and dark eyes tempt you to make a play for him yourself. The fact that he didn’t even glance twice at your negligee, however, tells you it is probably a lost cause.

You step into the steamy bathroom and turn on the water for the shower, hoping there is enough hot water for you. As you undress, you hear a chime. You look and see a cell phone on the bathroom counter, and it is ringing. The phone is not yours.