Its not that he’s ugly; I mused over my dates appearance. Tussled brown curls framed his high cheek bones, his mischevious eyes judging me, an impish grin on his fulsome lips.

No. Not ugly.

But I know too much.

My ignorant Cupid. The heavily intoxicated, embarrassingly overbearing, suitor blind Cupid… or should I say mother, for even if this handsome face could win over my blackened heart I would bestow the miracle upon my own efforts rather then the stray arrow of her intent.

He cleared his throat loudly to gain my attention. Obnoxious. That’s the first word I place atop the soon to be full list of unattractive qualities of this incubus. Dare I place righteous second, for the amiable quality that placed this man on the top of suitors was attending my mothers church.

Why my mother thinks her atheist daughter would appreciate a blind date with a regular church goer I know not, but I suppose I’ll find out.