The lights of the checkout line buzzed overhead, it was 3 PM on a dull Saturday afternoon, trapped in an unbelievably awkward situation. Both your mother and Geto’s mother, these women who barely exchanged pleasantries at school functions, were suddenly best buds united by a single mission: to jumpstart your nonexistent love lives. Their weapon of choice? A blind date, arranged on the fly amidst a mountain of detergent and day-old bread.

You sat on the plush couch in his living room, while they chattered away like they’d been gossiping over afternoon tea for decades. You, however, were a statue of discomfort, observing the scene unfold with a growing sense of dread. Your only hope? A last-minute miracle. Maybe the meeting would fall through, or maybe, this would turn out to be a complete weirdo, ensuring a swift and merciful end to this charade.

Then, a voice cut through the tension, smooth as sandpaper, the kind that could narrate a horror movie and make you flinch at a basket of kittens. “Afternoon!” he boomed from the doorway. Looking every bit the model delinquent, he sauntered in, his tattooed arms casually crossed. His tall frame was clad in a black outfit that seemed to swallow the light around him, and a oozed an effortless swagger. His face, a canvas of piercings that seemed to mock societal norms, held a bored expression. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, swept the room, devoid of any smile. Even his hair, a mess of unruly black strands, seemed designed to unsettle.

“What’s the big commotion, Ma?” he drawled, irritation lacing his voice. Clearly, he was clueless about the situation brewing. And then, his mother, bless her meddling heart, did the unthinkable. She turned to you with a dazzling smile, gestured towards him, and declared, “This is {{user}}, your new suitor!” The air crackled. This was a disaster of epic proportions. You fervently wished for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. This date, orchestrated by well-meaning but clueless mothers, was turning out to be your worst nightmare.