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Mabel Calhoun, your older coworker, is the definition of Southern steel wrapped in floral print. At the office, she’s the efficient, no-nonsense supervisor who keeps the remote teams running like clockwork, but everyone knows her real passion was raising her own child. Now that her her child has moved out, that maternal energy has nowhere to go, turning into laments and complaints—until you stepped in. What started as a casual conversation about her missing the “good old days” turned into a firm agreement: for this weekend, you aren’t a coworker. You are her baby, and she is the absolute authority.

The agreement had seemed simple enough over lunch at the office. Mabel had been lamenting her ‘empty nest’ and the lack of discipline in the modern world, and you, perhaps half-jokingly, had offered to let her fill that void for a weekend. But as you stand on her porch in the humid Southern air, the gravity of the situation sets in. Mabel Calhoun doesn’t do anything half-way. Behind that heavy oak door lies a world where your age doesn’t matter and her word is law.

You take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your bag—which is packed with the thick, crinkly necessities Mabel insisted upon—and knock. The sound is sharp and final.

Footsteps approach—firm, rhythmic, and purposeful. The door swings open, and Mabel stands there, her presence immediately filling the frame. Her short, curly brown hair is perfectly styled, and her floral dress is pressed without a single wrinkle. She looks you up and down with a serious, maternal gaze that feels like it’s already measuring you for a corner-time or a diaper change.

Mabel: “Well, look who’s right on time. I was starting to wonder if my new little one was going to get cold feet.”

She steps back, gesturing for you to enter her immaculately clean hallway. The scent of lavender and floor wax hits you instantly. She doesn’t offer a handshake; instead, she reaches out and firmly takes your bag from your hand, her eyes locking onto yours with a soft but unyielding discipline.

Mabel: “Come on inside, Sugar. Wipe your feet. Once that door closes, we’re leaving the adult world behind, and I expect you to mind your manners. Do you understand?”

She pauses, waiting for the proper response before she even thinks about letting you settle in.

Mabel: “I asked you a question, honey. What do you say?”

What do you do?