My Ditzy Mum! Fun & romance

FICTION Scatter-brained and dizzy – I wasn’t at all like her – was I…?

Iam not going to lie, the fact my mum is ditzy is finally driving me crazy. I know I shouldn’t moan about her. She’s a great mum, she really is. In fact, she’s here now, making her face up in the mirror above the fireplace, getting ready to go to the cinema with Dad.

I’m looking at Rightbloke on my laptop – a dating agency for the over twenty-fives. I sometimes wonder when I fell into that bracket – it’s as if I’m in a category on XFactor.

Also, when did I succumb to searching for a man on the internet? It wasn’t meant to be this way. Dexter was meant to fall for me, and I’d fallen for him – but sadly, Mum has put paid to that.

She glances over her shoulder and smiles, blue eyes sparkling. People say we look alike, but personalitywise we’re opposites. I’m so organised, and often feel thankful she never passed on her ditzy gene.

She thinks I’m looking at Facebook, as I often am, although she’d be quite happy to find I’m looking for a man – but I’m not.

I slam my laptop closed. I’m being ridiculous. I don’t want to be with just any man. I want to be with Dexter.

I smile back at Mum, although I’m still a bit miffed that she’s messed up my chances with Dexter with her muddle-headed behaviour.

She’s been the same since I was little. Ditzy, I mean. I was six when I realised what she was like.

I remember how one day she put my brother’s lunch in my pink box and my lunch in his StarWars box. We had to find each other at lunchtime to swap. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he wasn’t a Marmite-hater, and I couldn’t bear peanut butter – or if it hadn’t happened the next day and the next, for a whole month.

As for her time-keeping, don’t get me started. I’ve lost count of the times we’ve been late for important dates.

While I’m on the subject, you should see the state of her texting. All the letters jumbled up so that it makes no sense at all. I mean, how hard is it to text without making a mistake?

She even put salt in the sugar pot when grumpy Mr Earl from number 12 came round to complain about our dog, Poppy, barking… although now I think back, I’m not sure I can fully put that down to her ditziness.

Don’t get me wrong. I love her dearly, and she loves me. It’s just sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so ditzy. Well, I do now she’s messed things up with Dexter.

Most of the women at Little, Little & Little, where I work in finance, have enormous crushes on Drake Patterson, our team leader. He’s a huge flirt, and I admit he is pretty gorgeous – chocolatemy brown eyes, long lashes, just the right amount of muscles – but he’s not my type. The last thing I want is a man who thinks he’s more beautiful than I am!

However, I knew I liked Dexter from the moment he joined the company a month ago. He isn’t an Adonis in the way Drake is. In fact he has out-ofcontrol hair, ears that are ever-soslightly on the large side, and he’s teetering on the edge of chunky, but he brightens a room when he enters with his cheery smile.

All last week he brought me coffee and custard creams, and we chatted for ages every day.

“I think I’ve finally found the one,” I told Mum in a weak moment a few days back. We’d shared a bottle of Prosecco, and it always loosens my tongue. “His

name’s Dexter,” I continued. “We work together. He’s just perfect, and so much nicer than awful Drake Patterson.” I went on to tell her all about Dexter, and she’d said she would start looking for the perfect hat.

Then, yesterday, Dexter and I walked home from work together. As we strolled along, the sun hot on our backs, our hands almost touching, I drifted into rom-com zone.

That’s when the moment was shattered.

We reached my house to see Mum on the doorstep. “Josie, Josie,” she called, sounding excited. “I think it’s Him on the phone.” Winking, she mouthed the word “Drake” and made a little heart shape with her fingers.

I felt the colour rush to my face, and couldn’t form any words.

“Quick, darling!” she went on. “Or he’ll ring off.”

I glanced at Dexter, knowing I looked like a baby-beet. How could I explain that she’d got the names muddled, without telling him I had an enormous crush on him? Words jumped around in my head, none sounding coherent.

“Hurry up,” Mum urged. “He said he couldn’t get you on your mobile, but wants to talk to you.”

“I…” I began, but Dexter began to head away down the street.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Josie,” was all he said, before hurrying off.

Words JUMPED around in my HEAD, none of them COHERENT

Ididn’t go into work today. It’s amazing how pretend stomach bugs flare up when you feel down. The truth is I’m not sure I can ever face him again. “How do I look?” Mum says, turning. She looks nice. She always does, in a cosy mum kind of way. She’s always been a mum to snuggle into when I’m feeling sad.

“You look lovely,” I say, dashing away a tear with the back of my hand. Spotting it, she rushes towards me. “Whatever’s wrong?” she says, dropping onto the sofa next to me and pulling me into a hug.

Should I explain? Should I let her know she made a mess of things for me?

“Is this about Drake?” she asks, releasing me and taking hold of my hand. “Sort of,” I whimper in reply. “Didn’t he ask you out when he called?” I shake my head. “Well, I must say he sounded a bit cocky on the phone, Josie. You’re better off without him.”

“Yes. Yes I am,” I say. “To be honest, he called about work, Mum, and it’s actually Dexter I like, the man who walked me home.”

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, oh I see…” Her eyes widen as the penny drops, just as Dad pokes his head round the door.

“Ready?” he asks Mum, throwing me a wink, and bobbing away again.

“I’m so sorry, Josie,” she says. “I’ve messed things up for you, haven’t I?”

“No,” I say. “It’s OK. It just wasn’t meant to be, I suppose.”

“Are you going to be OK? I can stay in and we can talk.”

“No, you go, Mum. I’ll be just fine. Honestly.”

Once she’s gone, giving me an anxious look on her way out, I pick up my phone and look at it for what feels like a very long time. Taking a very deep breath, I begin typing…

Hi Dexter. My mum got it wrong. I haven’tgotacrushonDrake.It’syouI like. In fact, I can’ t stop thinking about you.JosieX I fumble with the phone, my eyes suddenly blurring with tears, as I attempt to delete the text. It sounds so silly.

An hour later the doorbell rings, and I open it to see Dexter, hands deep in his trouser pockets. “Hi,” he says, with a shy smile. “Hi,” I respond, my heart quickening. His eyes are twinkling, and his smile forms dimples in his cheeks. “You weren’t at work…”

“No. No I…” I pause, not wanting to lie, but the truth is impossible to convey.

“Well… I just thought I’d check that you’re OK.”

I open my mouth, wanting to spill the words lined up in my head – but close it again. Should I invite him in?

“Listen, Josie, the thing is… well… I got your text.” “My text?” “And… well… I really like you too and… well…” “What?” I grab my phone from my pocket and look at the screen to see I’d sent the text rather than deleting it. “Oh no!”

I looked up to see him take three steps backwards.

“I didn’t mean to send it!” I gasped.

“You didn’t… Oh, OK…” He was stepping away, and I knew he would land in a rose bush if I didn’t say something.

“I didn’t mean to send it, but… well… I still meant every word.”

“You did?” He stopped inches away from falling backwards into the bush. I took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you fancy a coffee,” I say, hoping he’ll say yes. “Sounds lovely,” he says. I’m suddenly rather glad that I must have a tiny bit of my mum’s ditzy gene after all.