She peered at his photo and squinted a bit.
He looked rather like Bruce or maybe Brad Pitt?
She was no Angelina, it’s fair to say,
But she scrubbed up and put on her date face today.
She’d swiped right, but wished she’d swiped left instead
And not wasted a day being misled
By the cat fishers and hat fishers, she’d reached her threshold.
She wanted a reflection of what she’d been sold.
But she wasn’t judgmental. He’d tuned up and was smiling.
With mouth closed, and she wondered; What was he hiding?
His picture had shown a long wavy mane.
With a gossamer comb-over, he did not look the same
She had endured the windbagswho wouldn’t shut up.
She’d heard all their life stories over a cup
Of coffee she’d had to buy for herself,
While she listened and sympathised and tried not to nod off.
Her heart was a sponge for their woeful tales.
Of the ups and downsof a job in sales.
A litany of women who once had wronged them.
And dead pets they had loved, more than their children.
Her patience was thinning.
She’d done enough grinning.
Her ear had been chewed by one egotist too many.
Misogynists, chauvinists, narcissists. There’d been plenty.
She decided something had to be done
And came up with a plan that could be fun.
She’d show how it felt to be brow-beaten and bruised.
The cat fishers had nothing on her cunning ruse.
She got carried away with the thrill of the chase.
Of luring her prey to a prettier place.
There she would make them suffer a fate.
One they had subjected her to on many a date.
Come. She had said. To this place. Where we can linger,
Drink the weak tea and eat sandwiches finger.
She settled them in on a pleathery chair,
Shall I be mother? She’d say with a stare.
She’d pour them a cup and make her excuses.
With promises to return with biscuits and juices.
She’d sneak a peek and watch Mother enter
And squeal with delight at the prospect of an encounter.
She could talk for England. There was no escape.
She held court like a professional with the erstwhile date.
Who squirmed and simpered as she jabbered with candour.
With tales tall and long about nothing he cared for.
He’d try to abscond but Mother raised her hand
Making him sit with a firm command.
I’ve not finished dear. Sit down . Don’t get antsy.
Be patient with your elders. Have a fondant fancy.
An hour would elapse, then they took flight.
Tiptoeing carefully, because Mother might
Wake from her nap, brought on by the exertion
Of compensating for her companion’s inertion.
And so it went on. Whenever they bored her;
She took them to tea with a champion talker.