[Chasmo]

“. . . here I am trying to show you to be a paradigm of virtue and propriety -- like me -- and it turns out you're no better than these other shameless children. Now you turn that phone off this instant -- we're going home and you're going to get exactly what's coming to you.”

“But mom, I didn't do it, I swear,” Anna protested as the likes of Jess Bradley, Linda Bertrand and Rachel Miras took no small amount of glee in the embarrassment that the girl's genuinely harmless behavior had brought upon her arrogant tease of a mother.

“I said turn off the phone right now missy,” Danielle stormed again now joined in chorus by her son Will who had come into the room part way through the meeting at his mother's request.

“You heard mom Anna,” the cocky young athlete smirked at his sister as her friends practically swooned at his presence, “turn it off you perv.”

But before the defeated Anna Parnell put her finger on the off switch, a new still image appeared on the screen -- one that exonerated one of the Parnell women present and began the downfall of the other. For as all jaws dropped, men's trousers stretched to the breaking point and smiles grew on the faces of every woman present save one, a very different and far less appropriate Danielle Parnell gazed out at the crowd from the large screen in front of the classroom.

Holding her rose colored iPhone in her bejeweled right hand, the onscreen Mrs. Parnell stood facing a full length mirror in what was a most opulent home dressing room wearing the same Louboutin Alti spike platform heels that her in personam twin had on but otherwise sporting only a tiny black, translucent, lace thong through which one could make out a very sexy landing strip, a matching push-up bra and, around her very supple neck, a 14-carat gold choker from which hung a diamond encrusted “D.” Better yet, the sexy suburbanite’s lips were pursed as if she was blowing her naughty reflection a kiss.

After a moment during which one could have heard a pin drop -- which seemed to Danielle and her gob-smacked children to be an eternity -- the gathered crowd broke spontaneously into a chorus of hoots, hollers and, especially amongst the women present, gut busting laughter.

“Mom,” cried out the shocked Will Parnell as he sought to cover up the growing bulge in his gym shorts, “what on earth are you doing?”

But unlike her brother who stood catatonically staring at the image of their scandalously dressed mother, Anna Parnell, who now realized that Danielle had knowingly let her suffer the humiliation of the last few minutes, decide to return the favor.

“Anna Parnell you turn that phone off instantly do you hear me,” roared Danielle as she rose from her chair with far less moral authority than she had commanded just moments before.

And then, realizing that she needed to try to change the narrative, the ordinarily hyper-confident beauty weakly croaked, “that . . . that's not me up there. . .” But the crowd’s laughter only grew louder at her pathetic protest.

“Someone must have doctored that picture,” the humiliated uber-MILF shouted as she tried to make her way past the women she had looked down upon and mocked for so long to get a hold of her phone, “turn it off you stupid girl.”

But smiling devilishly at her mother from the back of the room, Anna did no such thing. Rather, with a swipe of her finger -- curious to see what other naughty secrets her mother might be hiding -- she caused the ribald still shot of her barely dressed mom to transition to a video of a topless Danielle Parnell this time wearing only an obscenely high heeled pair of tacky, fire-engine red, Jessica Simpson brand “cowgirl” boots on her perfect little feet, a sexy straw cowboy hat, from under which pigtails made an appearance, on her normally well-coiffed head, a minuscule silk red thong in the pattern of a classic bandana on her oh so fabulous bottom and an actual bandana around her pretty, tan neck.

What's more, the soon to be far-less-powerful lawyer in the video had clearly set her phone on a counter in her majestic marble bathroom to record, now for posterity, her wanton display. With both hands therefore free she held in her right one a large glass of white wine and in her left a black leather lasso. As she did a turn for herself in the mirror, practically fawning at her scandalously sexy image, the very naughty vixen, for the first time, began to speak to what was clearly an imagined audience of one.

“How'd you lie to hog-tie this little filly stud,” she purred sexily, “what's the matter Timmy . . . don't you think you could handle the ride.”

As the crowd went wild, Danielle's normally facile brain reeled from the humiliation brought on by the outrageous performance of her onscreen doppelgänger. Although she knew she’d never again be able to appear at Davidson Middle School she also realized she needed to end this now in order to contain the collateral damage that this could have on her up to now unblemished professional career. With that in mind the panicked parent began a beeline toward her stunned but laughing daughter to put an end to this humiliating show.

“Not so fast you little hussy,” came the bellowing voice of Jess Bradley who on the one hand saw naught but red at the objectification of her barely 18 year old son by this two-faced, judgmental Jezebel, while on the other was giddy with delight at the haughty tease's downfall.

Suddenly terrified by the ire of the law partner she had berated so many times before, and aware now that she could be professionally as well as personally compromised, Danielle -- as quickly as her towering heels would permit -- sought to escape the infuriated Mrs. Bradley by squeezing between two of the room’s large lab tables. Unfortunately for the fleeing femme fatale, however, and in no small part due to the close quarters created by the large, laughing crowd in the rather small room, as Danielle shimmied by a hysterically guffawing mother and daughter already occupying the space she was seeking to traverse, she bumped into the immovable lab table causing, unbeknownst to her, the hip of her exquisitely expensive leather Lanvin pants to snag on the jagged corner of the ancient desk's metal top.

Thus, as the sexy solicitor continued her purposeful journey toward Anna and escape, her very fashionable, very sexy, very tight leather pants, gaining no release from the massive desk to which they were now attached, were peeled from her fabulous legs and ass like a banana skin leaving the soon to be further mortified mother in only her spiked stilettos, her wrap around Alexander MacQueen blouse -- that tied together a good two inches above her tan, toned waist -- and the merest wisp of a translucent hot pink micro thong that she had ordered online from a tawdry lingerie store and upon which -- across the barely there triangle of silk that covered her most private treasures -- were seven, white, silk embroidered letters, in cursive, reading “Got MILF?”

As she realized too late what had happened and as the crowd went yet wilder with screams of, “pornography . . . you know it when you see it,” and “I guess the true leader is ashamed of what she has done,” the smug look that generally graced Mrs. Parnell’s beautiful face was replaced with a blank, daffy, stare.

How could this day get any more humiliating . . . but then it did.