“You know that guy I’ve been talking to on Tinder?” asked my mother at around 4pm on Friday.

“Which one?” I joked. I let out a cheeky laugh and said, “Yes sorry Mum, I know the one.”

“He just called me and asked me out!” my mother squealed. She was so excited and had called me because she was just about bursting out of her skin.

The call was only brief but I was happy for her. My mother had had a couple of relationships since she and my father split in ’04, only one serious and none that had her squealing like a six year old on Christmas morning. 

I called her back on Monday morning as I drove to work. 

“Soooo, how was it?” I asked with excited anticipation. 

“Oh, I don’t think it’s going to work,” she said disappointedly, and with a hint of nervousness in her voice. 

I was incredulous. My mother had been speaking to this guy for a few weeks over the phone and she’d been amazed by how much they had in common; “everything I tell him I’m into, he likes too!” she’d told me. That had rung some alarm bells for me but hey, my mothers almost 60 years old so surely she can skim the froth off a coffee, right?

“What the hell happened!?” I almost shouted. 

“Well, we had a lovely time,” she started. “The show was great, the meal was great and we got along like a house on fire.

“I didn’t realise the time, and it was suddenly late. He suggested that instead of me driving back home by myself at the time if the night I could spend the. Iggy with him. 

“Wow, it was amazing!” she breathed. 

I had to stop her. “Haha, go mum! Sounds perfect. So how is this not going to work, I don’t get it.”

“Well, I think he’s a sex addict.”

“Whaaat?!” I screeched. “How the heck do you know that? Did he just come out and say that or is it just what you think?”

“No, he pretty much told me,” said my mother.

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