You dreaded this day from the moment you first heard your mom’s “25 and married” mantra, and yet here you were, sitting in your parents’ living room, facing your worst nightmare. Your mom practically buzzed with excitement, a massive folder in her lap filled with neatly arranged pictures of men, complete with bullet points listing their accomplishments.

“Mom… I don’t want to—” you started, but she cut you off before you could even finish the sentence.

“Now, sweetie, you promised. We made a deal: when you turn 25, you’d get married. You’re not getting any younger, and I want grandbabies!” she chirped, her eyes gleaming as she flipped open the folder and pulled out the first profile.

You groaned, leaning back into the couch and crossing your arms in protest. “I said I’d consider it, Mom. That’s not the same thing as agreeing to participate in some… arranged marriage” you muttered, glancing at the folder like it contained your doom.

“Sweetie,” she began, her voice dipping into that annoyingly soft yet firm tone only mothers seem to master, “I’m doing this for you. You’re so busy all the time, you don’t even have the chance to meet anyone! These are good men—handsome, successful, and from excellent families.”

As if to prove her point, she held up the first profile. The picture showed a man in his early 30s with razor-sharp features and an impeccable suit. Even the bio seemed intimidating: Yale graduate, high-powered lawyer, world traveler. “This is Daniel,” she said, grinning proudly. “He’s a lawyer. Look how polished he looks! Isn’t he perfect?”

You raised an eyebrow. “He looks like the kind of guy who’d sue me for looking at him the wrong way,” you quipped dryly.

Your mom clicked her tongue in disapproval but quickly flipped to the next profile. “Sweetheart, you’re being impossible,” she said, flipping through the profiles faster now. “You’re too picky. Do you think your father and I had all these options? You’re lucky to even have—oh! What about Maxwell Harrington? He’s a business owner…..very rich”