Chapter One - The Calvin Kleins

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Most woman at the age of fifty three would be asleep wrapped up in their knitted blankets with their reading glasses still perched on the end of their noses, a book dangling from their limp hands as the clock struck three am, but not my mother, no, she was ringing me from some bar explaining to me how my biological clock was ticking by too fast and that if I didn't settle down soon I would end up a lonely old spinster.

"See, when you say spinster, I can't help but think of you mom." I replied sweetly, digging my spoon back into the jar of nutella that was currently cradled between my legs as I sprawled out on the couch watching old 'That's so Raven' episodes, because apparently three am was the only time it was on any more.

"Please, I have a better social life than you do and I'm nineteen years older." She shot back. I snorted audible, "Thirty years older."

"Don't get mathematical with me, you know I can barely remember what ten plus ten is when I've been drinking." She replied, I could see her waving her hand about in nonchalance.

"It means he's too young for you, mom." It was her turn to snort but she didn't dare correct me. She and my dad were happily married but that didn't stop her eyeing up the new recruits when they finally got an ID that wasn't fake and sauntered into the closest bar they could find in search of a good time, and my mom lived on the rush that came with a guy half her age giving her compliments. You'd think my dad would have a problem with this but the truth was he was sat at the bar drinking his whiskey as he watched in amusement as my mom sent the guys running with their tails between their legs.

My parents were the main reason I sat at home on a Saturday night eating nutella from the jar watching old Disney shows, because if I even dared go out and attempt a social life you can bet I would bang into them and never live it down for the rest of my sad and lonely life.

"Can we get back to my point?" She whined.

I rolled my eyes, slouching further down into my couch and shoving the spoon into my mouth, "You had a point?" I asked, and since my mom had raised me for the past twenty three years she could understand the spoon-in-mouth dialect.

"Yes, as I was saying; the barman who gave me the bedroom eyes, he's your age and completely unattached." This is what my mom did, she figured that since I was incapable of going out and finding my own relationship she had to do it for me, and boy did she try. Just last week she set me up on a blind date, that I had absolutely no idea about, with a guy who referred to himself in third person. There's only so many times you can hear "Terry must go and relieve himself in the bathroom." Before you snap.

"Please say you didn't." I groaned, knowing that she already did.

"So I gave him your number and told him to call you at some point so you two kids could get together and do something fun." She practically squealed.

"Did you actually say that to him?" I asked dryly, "'You kids can get together and do something fun?'" Mom huffed on the other end of the phone, "I'm trying to help you find a date to your sisters wedding, is that such a crime?"

"It is when you do it your way," I sighed, "and why do I even need a date? Gen is the one getting married, I'm perfectly okay with the buffet table being my date."

"I swear to god if you even go near that buffet table i'll rugby tackle you to the ground." She snarled.

"What are you saying?" I demanded.

"I'm saying that they invented knives and forks for a reason, but when you see a buffet table they seem to have no use to you whatsoever." I had to hold back the laughter at that, I'll admit I'm not the most lady like of people but buffet tables usually consist of 'finger food' and surely it would be incorrect etiquette to use anything but my fingers?

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