Picture This

Picture This: Episode 7

As you know, I like to keep my Picture This posts relevant. Last week, I kept with a Halloween theme, and seeing as it was Bonfire Night yesterday, this short story will reflect that.


My Interpretation:

My mum likes to think herself a match maker, but she really has no clue. Last week, she set me up on a blind date with the new guy that started in her office. He sounded great on paper, but he kept wiping his nose on his sleeve and hand like a four year old.

She wanted me to meet her neighbour’s son tonight, but I outright refused. Her days as Cupid are over.

‘Fair enough, if you want to be a spinster with ten cats.’ I set to retort, but she holds up a hand. “It’s your life.”

“Thank you.”

She fills the kettle, her back to me. “But I already told Sheila we’d go to her firework party tonight.” She waves packets of sparklers at me.

I roll my eyes.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Don’t make me go alone.”

“Fine, but don’t leave me to make conversation with people I don’t know, and DO NOT try and set me up with anyone.”

She does a little victory jig and rushes up the stairs.

“I’ll finish the tea, shall I?”

“Do what you like. I’ve got to get ready.”


Sheila’s party is a lot rowdier than I imagined for a bunch of fifty year olds. Is this what will happen to all of us in middle age? God, I hope not.

Mum is tipsy and waves at me from the kitchen, almost spilling her drink in the process. “My daughter is single if you are on the market?” she tells someone out of eyeshot. I can’t believe her, sometimes.

“Tori, come here and meet Sheila’s son, Aiden.’ And she has officially outdone herself.

I head into the kitchen, a rage boiling in my tummy. I turn the corner, expecting to see another mummy’s boy in need of a 2nd mother and not a girlfriend, but I physically stop dead in my tracks. Aiden is stunning. He leans against the counter and smiles as I enter. Did he see my mouth flop open? I bloody hope I don’t look like a drooling fool.

Mum hands me a glass of something bubbly. “Close your mouth, Sweetie. It is not very becoming.” She leaves the room, a smug air about her. ‘One nil to Mum,” she mutters with laugh.

Content belongs to K.J Chapman

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