Today’s literary offering is a piece penned for a writing group meeting this week. The topic for this maximum 1,000 word narrative was to journal a first meeting between a young man/new girlfriend and his parents… Concentrating in part on the thoughts of the mother, along with the son’s new partners observations of events as they played out.

Below are 993 words penned for the initial draft…..

Scene – Mother’s Day 2023 – An eatery in the centre of the fictional North Yorkshire market town of Ainsley Scragg. A middle-aged couple meet their son Jamie and his fragrant new girlfriend Dionne for the first time… To clarify, it is the girlfriend they are meeting for the first time; they have met their son on numerous occasions!! 

The twentysomething girl a nervous wreck at this inaugural meeting. The fact she has heard Jamie’s father is a brusque, no-nonsense Yorkshireman and his mother sports a highly distracting beard adding to her anxiety. 

Accustomed to his father’s curmudgeonly ways and his mother’s hirsute visage, Jamie is less nervous. However, as his Sat Nav was unable to locate the venue he would have preferred his parents’ location choice to have been non-fictional. 

His forebears June and Tony are the last to arrive for this initial meeting with their eldest son’s beau. During greeting exchanges between the couples, Dionne takes pecks Tony on the cheek, but takes his smile to be disingenuous… Additionally, she finds Jamie’s mum’s kiss on the cheek overly furry. 

“Did thee find the place easily enough?” Jamie’s dad enquired of the younger pair. 

“Yes… Although we took a wrong turn at Camblewick Green, elongating the drive by ten minutes.” The man’s progeny lied. 

“Tha’ mother loves the cuisine here!… Don’t thee love?!” Tony added with as much enthusiasm as a man this miserable could muster. 

“It is ok, love… Although the Pot Noodles were slightly overcooked last time we dined here.” the middle-aged, blond mother of three grumbled… Scanning Dionne’s face while making the revelation. 

With her husband tasting the newly uncorked merlot wine, June continued to stare at the girl potentially unseating her as the main lady in her boy’s life.  

“It’s alreet I suppose… Better than the shite rioja you peddled as vino last time we ate here, lad!” Tony advised a taken aback wine waiter, after his undignified quaffing of the red prior to its widespread pouring. 

With the men exchanging opinions on Leeds United’s flailing fortunes, June continued to unsettle Dionne with silence and sour puss glares.  

Although going against her normal demeanour, to quell her uneasiness the poor girl found herself frequently having to break eye contact with the matriarch. 

She is nowhere near good enough for my boy, June grumbled in her head… The mother’s thought crime continuing with unjustified opinions the girl was plain looking, overweight and had not even the wherewithal to grow a beard. 

Well, to be fair, the judgement Dionne could not grow a beard was justified. She, indeed, could not achieve such a grooming state; however, the twentysomething girl was relieved about that situation. 

“Ayling’s a weak link a right back, dad!” Jamie felt moved to interject as a reason Leeds’ defence had been so leaky of late. 

Sensing June was a harder nut to crack, Dionne joined the football chatter of her boyfriend and his dad. “Leeds’ finishing has been appalling recently, Tony… When we see the games on TV, Jamie and I are always moaning about Bamford’s profligacy in front of goal.” 

The misogynistic pater, stunned at the thought of a woman making an informed judgment on football, sat in a rare open-mouthed and reflective state at Dionne’s amateur punditry. 

June, in the meantime, tutted in her head upon hearing her boy’s girl daring to express an opinion on a man’s game… Thinking to herself, “What does she know about football?!… He wants to get rid of her right now!!… I would never trust a partner who tried to hijack my hobbies and pastimes.” 

With Tony still sitting open-mouthed like a seal been thrown congratulatory fish heads by a zookeeper, the mother of three’s notions turned to how Tony and her relationship thrived by avoiding partaking in the same hobbies as eah other. 

June concluding in her mind, Tony would have cheated on her on far more than sixteen occasions if she’d dared shown interest in his extra-curricular activities… Hobbies such as football, visiting lap dancing clubs and an unnatural interest in watching ladies beach volleyball. 

Concluding further her not badgering him to become involved in her favoured pastimes of making candles from ear wax and Pilates on horseback was a contributed factor to her husbands near flawless fidelity. 

Dionne was not enamoured with her boyfriends middle-aged parents. Even though June had not spoken in a disparaging manner towards her, the moody lady’s disposition towards her exposed her grouchy inner thoughts. 

She was also irked at her potential father-in-law who, gob smacked at her football knowledge, was still sitting diagonally opposite with mouth ajar. A gaping gob which a child on a nearby table was utilising as a target for his parent’s hors d’oeuvre peanuts. 

Luckily for Jamie’s dad, he did not suffer from a peanut allergy. Otherwise, the child’s high-spirited antics could’ve resulted in far wider reaching problems for the entranced fella… Well, it would have done if the kid had been more accurate with the aiming of his snacks; which bounced off the top of Tony’s balding skull onto the floor. 

The outdated attitudes of her beau’s brood, meant Dionne’s fears of an awkward introduction were proving accurate. Leading to a conclusion this would be the first and last Mother’s Day she would spend with June and Tony. 

Hungry, Jamie motioned over a waiter.  

When the white shirted, dark slacked, man arrived at the table, asking “Can we have the menus please. We’re ready to choose our dinners.” 

“There is no need for menus, sir!” the waiter replied politely. Adding, 

“This is all fictional so we can knock up any meal you desire!” 

“Findus Crispy Pancakes for me, please.” Dionne asked. 

“How does one take your pancakes, madam?… Rare, medium or well-done?” The waiter asked, pad and paper in hand. 

“Medium/rare, please.” The young lady responded. 

Events leading to June tilting her head to whisper in a still open-mouthed Tony’s ear, “As I suspected, absolutely no bloody class!”