Stupid Cupid

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Excuse the mistakes

This is a prologue kind of thing

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The first time my mom set me up on a date, I was a slightly overweight, pubescent twelve-year-old with oily skin and frizzy red hair. I had the occasional stutter when I felt like I was under pressure, and I was as awkward as people come.

I think it’s obvious that the date didn’t go well. Not at all.

“Go ahead, Sweetheart.”

I reluctantly peeled my eyes away from my shoes and looked up at my mom. Her red painted lips were stretched in a wide, hopeful grin, and she leaned towards me with one arm on the steering wheel.

“Mom, are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked, knotting my hands in the hem of my shirt nervously. “I don’t really know this boy…” my voice trailed off, and I started to pick at the nail polish on my fingernails.

When I get nervous, I fidget. A lot.

“Reed,” My mom said, sighing dramatically, “Dallas is a wonderful boy. I was talking to his mother just the other day, and she told me that he is very open and kind.”

“Oh,” I breathed, and I swallowed hard. This wasn’t going to go well. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.

You see, my mom is a matchmaker. No, that’s not right. She is The matchmaker. My mom is responsible for the happy relationships of many, including millionaires and celebrities you’d find plastered across the covers of tabloid.

In some ways, it was cool to have a celebrity matchmaker as a mom. I got to meet people most teenagers only dreamed of meeting, and I got to hear all these funny stories about botched dates. In other ways, though, it was awful.

My mom thought that she would be able to find me the perfect guy, since she had so many success stories.  She believed it was best to start as soon as puberty hit, which was an opinion we greatly differed on. However, here I was being dropped off for my first date with a guy I barely knew from school.

“Reed, Dallas is in the restaurant waiting for you,” my mom huffed, jutting her perfectly manicured finger towards the small, French place she’d picked out for us. “Get in there before he thinks you died, or worse, stood him up!”

“It’s not like I have that option,” I muttered under my breath, and I unbuckled my seatbelt.

“What was that?” my mom snapped.

“Nothing,” I replied hurriedly, and I opened the passenger door and climbed down out of the car. “When are you picking me up?” I asked, straightening my skirt.

“I’ll be back at six-thirty,” my mom stated. Then she smirked, “That should give you enough time to get to know Dallas.”

“Right,” I drawled, and I adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder. I closed the car door behind me, and I let out a deep breath before walking into the restaurant. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here,” I said to the man standing at the host’s podium.

“A young boy?” he replied, with an obviously fake French accent. I nodded, and he smiled. “Right this way, Miss.”

I followed the man through the small, intimate setting towards the back of the restaurant. As we walked, I couldn’t help but notice how weird this setting was for two twelve-year-olds. Frankly, I agreed. My mom had really gone overboard with this one.  Finally, the man brought me back to a table where a boy, who I assumed to be Dallas, was sitting.

“H-h-hi,” I said, and then I mentally kicked myself for stuttering and sounding like a loser.

“You must be Reed Hadley?” Dallas said, and he stood up and shook my hand.

“And you’re D-D-Dallas,” I replied, and I noticed that  Dallas winced at the way my words came out. You know, if he was being a polite date, Dallas wouldn’t make me feel bad for having a speech problem. I’m just saying.

From there, the date went downhill. It ended up getting so awkward that I texted my mom and lied about getting my first period, just so she would come get me early. Dallas and I never went out again, and we avoided each other at school.

Still, my mom kept getting me together with guys, much to my annoyance. It’s like she had a secret agenda to have me married before the age of twenty-five. My dad was more of the silent, passive type. So, I pretty much was left on my own to combat my mom’s boy crazy ways.

Many times, I found myself arguing with her about being able to find my own boyfriend when I was ready, but she just didn’t listen. In her own, strange way, my mom cared about my happiness. Her way of showing it, though, was pretty annoying.

What I needed was a way to get her off my case about boys. 

 

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So, I realized that the stories I've previously posted are all more "heavy" in subject matter, if you know what I mean. So, I decided to write a humor. I'm actually a funny person, so I thought I'd try it :)

This chapter is dedicated to Buggy11 because she was a big help in figuring stuff out

Leave some feedback, everyone!

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