So this is the delightful tale of how my mother thought she would find me a man. Yes, it is a horror story, so you should read it in the light of day with other people nearby, lest you send your spine recoiling into itself, whimpering from the atrocities your eyes have beheld. Now that the warning has been duly dispensed, I commence.
You should first of all know that my mother had the very best intentions at heart – at least, this is the mantra I chant every time I play this little clip in my head – but she just thought that I needed some encouragement. She has a friend with a young, handsome son who just happens to be a lawyer and in need of a spouse. According to my best friend, who knows everything about anybody breathing in our rural area, he’s had an on-again-off-again relationship with a woman for 6 years, but my mother wasn’t about to be deterred by minor details. Or giant, waving, red flags.
So unbeknownst to me, she and her cohort, I mean friend, began plotting on how to bring us together. My mom eagerly supplied samples of my writing to her friend, who dutifully placed it in the hands of her son. I guess they thought literacy would be a huge turn-on. Personally, I would have gone with blackberry turnovers, but I’m of a different mindset. Now that he was armed with pages of my brilliance, Mom began phase two of the plan, which I have modestly dubbed the Subtle Phase: she stalked him. The woman actually went to the man’s law office and sat by the back entrance until he returned from lunch. Recognizing her as his mother’s friend, the poor sap let her in.
Once she had him cornered, it was all over. Mom broached the “reason” for her visit, some lame excuse about legal advice that we already knew, and then she gracefully segued into how she had an available daughter. Having a law degree, I’m sure the man was astute enough to see through this ruse, but she was taking no prisoners and wasn’t about to leave until she had achieved her objective: the presentation of the evidence. From her purse, my mother pulled a few photos of me. Not snapshots, mind you, of candid shots taken in the yard or around the table at a family gathering, oh no. She went straight for the big guns and pulled out several 5×7 glossies, some still in their frames. Can you feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up yet? This is the part in the movie when the Jaws music normally kicks in.
So after successfully accosting the man at his own practice, she dusted off her hands and returned home, where she rang me up and related the affair in whole. I can’t remember my exact response, memory gets a bit spotty when you lose consciousness, but let’s just say it was less than enthusiastic. She ended the conversation by telling me not to be surprised if I received a phone call from this gentleman caller, and at this point, recollections kicks in.
“Really, Mom? Why on earth would the man call me unless it’s to tell me about the restraining order he’s taken out against the women of this family?” I haven’t seen the data, but there’s an instinctive part of me that doubts a court injunction is the best foundation for a relationship. Call me old-fashioned.
Thankfully, this is one of the few times she’s tried match-making. I did have one scare when she came home talking about a handsome guy she saw working for animal control who turned out to be married. Mom was initially impressed with his teeth. It seems that a dog catcher with exemplary dental alignment is now our new standard. With the bar set so high, I’ll never find anyone . . .
© 2013 – Traci Carver