So, last weekend I went out on the town with my mother and aunt. Now this isn’t a normal occurrence but there was a bit of a cocktail event on so we decided to go partying together.
We arranged a date and time, that’s when I informed my mother she had to undergo a wing woman brief. Now clearly I’ve been terrible at picking potential suitors for myself so why not hand that over to my mother?! So the messages between us go something like this:
Me: I will give you both a brief on your wing woman duties.
Mother: Oh, we will be excellent wing women!!!
Me: Big feet, no tattoos and no piercings about covers it.
Me: Oh, and must like cats!
Mother: The big feet is the worrying bit!!!
Now rest assured, it’s not because I like big socks that I like big feet. It’s just one of those things I have…Surely everyone has at least one thing they like in a potential mate?!
So off we go out, few drinks down and all is going well. I have a friend join us, I had no plans on going home and having an early night so I needed a back up wing woman for when my mother caved on me.
Mother decided she wanted to go to a bar that I regularly head to. Fine, I thought, I’ll show her what she’s missing. Standing in the queue outside a young guy try’s to convince me to let him ahead of us. Now I know how to hold my ground. The answer was no and he knew it. Mother takes a look at him, gives me the eye. Turns round and asks him what size his feet are. Now that’s not how I was hoping it was going to happen. Not the smoothest. Needless to say that was the end of that conversation!
We go into the bar. Mother is already on the scout. Now I get the dislike for tattoos from her. She hates them. I can deal with them although they have to be on the ‘right’ person and be the ‘right’ tattoos. Shallow, I know but still… The barman who I’ve been texting is there. She’s already decided she wants to invite him over for Sunday lunch (she’s keen for grandchildren). Fortunately I put a stop to an official invite happening. Then she spots a guy with a man bag (we are in a rather alternative bar, man bags aren’t common in there). He doesn’t tickle my pickle in the first instance so he gets a no….That’s when it starts….
Mother: You MUST learn to compromise. YOU ARE DESPERATE, you have to lower your standards….
Well I could have burst into tears. I am not desperate, I will not compromise.
Why should I settle for anything less than perfect for me? Ok, I’ll be the first to admit my standards are high. But why should I want anything less? If I want to be with someone for the rest of my life, surely I shouldn’t lower my standards or I’ll only end up kicking myself because I’ve settled for less than perfect. Or am I just going around this whole thing the wrong way? Do you meet someone close to perfect and hope to lover their flaws too. Now I know everyone has flaws, myself more than most and when I say perfect man, I don’t mean in every way. Just perfect for me.
Anyway, after mother and aunt left, I ended up chatting to a lovely Irish guy and his friend. We spent the rest of the night partying together. We’ve all been talking all week and I think I’ve just got myself a date with Irish guy. Excited to say the least.
Turns out mothers don’t make the best wing women. You need someone there to drunkenly tell you, your worth more than any man…
I was considering handing over my Tinder account to her to see what she comes up with but now starting to think otherwise!
Confessions of a serial 'relationshipper' 