Upon arriving home after work, Mother continuously asked if I had contacted him yet.
Contact a complete stranger whose conversation was overheard by a random lady who may or may not have strong-armed him into giving up his contact details?
Why YES. Seems legitimate! Why ever not?
I shared my skepticism with Mother.
She then explained how the conversation unfolded:
Two gentlemen having conversation over coffee. One mentions the supposed perils of singlehood. The other responds that it is not all that bad.
Mother overhears this and approaches the one who is supposedly ‘single.’
‘Young man, what is your name?’
“Thackeray, Ma’am. They call me Mister T.”
‘Are you really single?’
‘Wonderful! You MUST meet my daughter Charlotte!’
I wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or concerned or nauseated. Mother again reminded me that Mister T was ‘very nice’ and there was no harm trying.
Despite the absurdity of this situation, a tiny part of me believed that maybe, just maybe something good would happen.
I mean, I have to catch some sort of break, right?
That evening, I dropped Mister T a message.