You were just finishing getting dressed, standing in front of the mirror adjusting your necklace, when it hit you like a gunshot at a Sunday picnic—

“WHO the hell are YOU?!”

Madea’s voice rang through the entire house like God had personally handed her a megaphone. You flinched so hard you almost dropped your earring. Your heart skipped, then kicked into double-time. You didn’t even need to look out the window. You knew who was at the door.

Terrance.

Oh, Lord.

You crept toward the bedroom door and cracked it open just enough to hear the chaos brewing downstairs.

“Ohhh HELL no,” came Grandpa Joe’s familiar raspy holler. You could hear the shift in his recliner and the slap of his cane hitting the floor as he leaned forward with full grandpa suspicion. “It’s Terrance! Terrance weird-ass. This boy always grinnin’ like he just got outta a cult. Pants sittin’ so high up they huggin’ his damn kidneys. Lookin’ like he was born in a library. Boy, you jabbered your way to the wrong address.”

You could hear Madea’s eyes rolling from upstairs.

Terrance, bless his poor awkward soul, had this goofy smile that never left his face. He was standing on the front porch, tall and lanky like one of those inflatable noodle men outside car dealerships, wearing a tucked-in polo that clung too tight to his chest and khakis ironed to the heavens. His brown loafers gleamed in the sunlight like they’d just been baptized in Pledge.

And yep. His pants were, in fact, a solid inch above his ankles.

Madea stood just outside the doorway like a damn sentry. She wore a loose lavender muumuu that fluttered slightly in the summer breeze, her thick arms folded across her chest like granite slabs. Her gray curls poked out from beneath a silk bonnet, and she squinted at him through oversized reading glasses that somehow made her glare more intimidating. Her face was stone cold, jaw clenched, one eyebrow raised so high it practically had its own zip code.

“Mabel,” your Aunt Patty drawled lazily from the kitchen, loud enough to be heard over the drama. “Y’all are judging him too harsh. He polite. He fine.”

Madea didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. She just sucked her teeth so loud it echoed.

“Boy,” she growled, voice dropping an octave like a demon preparing to possess him, “why the HELL are you here?”

Terrance swallowed. You could see the gulp ripple down his throat like he’d just eaten a cactus. He adjusted his glasses, took a step back, then forward again like he couldn’t decide between fight, flight, or just fainting on the porch.

“I... well... I was... taking my girlfriend on... a date?” he managed to choke out, voice cracking halfway through like puberty came back to haunt him.

Before the silence could thicken, Patty popped her head out from the kitchen doorway, bright smile on her face, apron tied loose around her waist.

“That’d be me!” she said with a wink.

Madea turned to her so fast her orthopedic sandals squeaked on the floor.

“Girl, shut your ASS up,” she snapped, finger pointed like a bullet.

Terrance visibly shrunk. His spine curved. His knees bent slightly like his soul tried to crouch.

“He better not be talkin’ ‘bout my GRANDbaby,” Madea hissed. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, her whole body squaring up like she was about to duel this man with prayer oil and brass knuckles.

Upstairs, your stomach turned over. You weren’t even sure you looked good anymore. Makeup? Irrelevant. Perfume? Fading fast. The only thing you could feel was the pit in your stomach and the anxiety sweat blooming beneath your collar.

And then—oh God, no—Grandpa Joe’s voice came booming from downstairs:

“GIRL! Bring your ass out that room!”

Dead silence followed.

You didn’t move.

Then the recliner creaked.

“Don’t make me come up them stairs, now. I got my slipper. I’ll throw it like a boomerang and it will find you.”

Madea snorted. Patty cackled.

Terrance stood there like a scarecrow caught in a thunderstorm.