Meeting a man’s parents, especially the mother is a big deal, right? It shows that your relationship is progressing and that the man in question is really committed to you, at least that is what I’ve heard is the way of things. But it seems not everyone got the memo, definitely not Richard. Of course I have changed his real name to spare his feelings, with the strongest prayer that he does not get his eyes on this.
First off, Richard organised our date in a dubious manner. We met in the bookstore over our mutual like for sci-fi/thriller novels. He said there was a book club that met every month and that they were discussing the latest Stephen King book that month. He invited me and I said yes because … how cool is it to have a group of people that get my fascination with King!
Anyway, I went to the designated venue – Centenary Park. Lo and behold, he was the only member of the book club! Naïve Grace… I hadn’t seen through his tactic. In retrospect I should have realised that there was no way I would never have heard about this so-called club. We went through the motions of indignation on my end, and an explanation on his. I had to give him points for creativity on getting me to accept a date with him, albeit shadily, so I stayed.
Thank God he had not faked our mutual like for thrillers since it was our main focus of conversation. We argued about which Agatha Chrstie was best translated on film and Alan Moore’s graphic books (he was cool enough not to refer to them as comic books). In short, we were having a hoot.
Then he went and spoilt it by saying he was ready to take our “relationship” to the next level. I almost choked on my juice as I laughed at his joke. It had to be a joke. What relationship? He said we had made a connection. I cringed. He was serious.
The next level he meant was for me to meet his mother.
Not the next day or week. That night, or should I say that early morning as it was already past 12pm. I told him there was no way I was meeting his mother, for the first time, in the middle of the night. He didn’t know me that well. For all he knew, I could have been a psycho. But no, he wouldn’t hear of it. I was a “nice” girl. There was no way he could be wrong about me. His words were starting to sound like the mumblings of a mad man so I hightailed it out of there and never took his calls again.