My Mom Thought No Man Was Good Enough for Me Until One Invited Her on a Date — Story of the Day

I always knew I had a mom. But sometimes, it felt like my mom was my whole life. I was 37, but that didn’t stop her from asking me every single day:

“Are you wearing warm socks?” or “Are you sure he looked at you with respect and not… interest?”

I worked in a museum, adored art history, lived in my own apartment, had a bank account, and had two degrees… Yet every time I saw “Mom calling” on my phone, I instinctively straightened my posture.

She controlled everything. From when I should go to bed to what color I painted my nails.

Once, I ordered salmon delivery, and 20 minutes later, she called.

“I saw him go into your house. Was that him?”

“Mom, are you spying on my house?”

“I just sat in the car nearby. In case of suspicious movement.”

She had binoculars. And a notebook. She called it “just in case.”

As a child, it was cute. At 20, it got annoying. By 30, I began to question our “normal.”

At 37, I met Theo.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t tell her right away.

It was my first grown-up secret. And, of course, it lasted exactly three days. Until Mom ruined everything.

But I’ll tell you that in a moment.

***

I was preparing for my dinner with Theo. I baked a pie I found online, not from Mom’s sacred recipe book.

Even if it came out a bit burnt and the chicken was a little dry — those were my mistakes. My life.

I could already imagine my mother’s face if she saw the meal — a guaranteed explosion. I smiled quietly to myself while checking the candles.

A week earlier, she declared, “I want to meet him. In person. At my house. At the table. With my questions.”

“Mom, let me be an adult for once. I’ll decide when to introduce you.”

She backed off for once. It felt odd, but I didn’t think much of it. Big mistake.

That night, Theo came over for the first time. He brought tulips, non-alcoholic wine (knowing I was tired after work), and a cake from the bakery I always visit during lunch.

“I just wanted to get everything right,” he smiled, setting the plates.

“Theo, with you, it always feels right.”

Something warm and calm bloomed in my chest. We talked for hours. Laughed. Dreamed.

“Imagine… a little house by an old lighthouse,” he said.

“And in the basement — an archive of old love letters.”

“You’d preserve them, and I’d write new ones.”

Candles were burning low. Music hummed softly. He touched my hand.

“I thought after all the heartbreaks, nothing would ever happen again. And then you came along…”

And at that exact moment…

“ACHOO!”

From the closet. We froze.

“You’re not alone?” Theo shot me a look.

I got up. Opened the closet.

“Mooom?!”

She sat in the dark. With a headlamp. And a thermos.

“What… what are you doing?!”

“Oh, hi! I was just checking if you’re storing things in your closet without lavender,” she mumbled, not even trying to sound convincing.

“You broke into my apartment?!”

“I was just making sure. Listening. Evaluating. I didn’t interfere!”

Theo, somehow, still managed to smile politely.

“Good evening. I’m Theo. Very nice to meet you.”

“Theo. Short. Like most male patients,” Mom said, sitting on the couch. “Sit. Let’s get to know each other.”

I wanted to run. But Theo sat down. Bravely.

And the interrogation began.