I was literally about to walk out the door Saturday morning when I got a text from the guy who was supposed to take me out. My feelings about the guy were fairly ambivalent. He’s Ivy League-educated, brilliant, fairly successful, he appreciates the arts. But, about a week ago, he got drunk and sent me a lot of reeeeally obnoxious texts. So, I was sort of like, whatever.

Everybody does that at some point in their lives. Anyway, the text read that his family had dropped in by surprise to visit and he couldn’t take me out. I wasn’t sure whether or not to call bullshit, but he apologized a ton and offered to take me out again so I shrugged it off. I walked back upstairs in my cute sundress with my hair done all nice with no plans until the evening.

“Well, it’s a shame, you look lovely,” my mother said. I laughed. “Want to take me out?”

And so we got in the car and headed out to buy some shoes, shamelessly gossip about people we know, yell along to “Sledgehammer” and Pretenders songs in the car and have one of the most pleasant afternoons I’ve had in a while. So, my best date ever turned out to be with my mother. Go figure.