“Marry Me, Mum Really Wants It”
“Emma, love, you shouldnt be thinking about workyou should be thinking about marriage!” Mum insisted over the phone. “Youre thirty! No husband, no children. And I want grandchildren!”
“Mum, I dont have time right nowwell talk later,” Emma replied. She hated these conversations, and honestly, she was swamped.
“What do you mean, no time?!” Mum huffed. “You never have time! Life will pass you by!”
“Mummy, darling,” Emma pleaded, “Im seriousIve got a meeting in five minutes. Ill call you tonight, and you can scold me then, alright? Love you, bye!”
Emma rushed into her meeting, firing off instructions to her assistant on the way. Her entire day was scheduled down to the minute. Between endless tasks and an upcoming business trip the next day, shed been running non-stop for two years. Even before becoming company director, shed always been a workaholic, but now? Rest was a distant memory.
Deep down, she knew Mum had a pointshe *should* think about her personal life. But where did one find a husband when work consumed every waking hour? Office romances were off the tableshe refused to be gossip fodder. The only person she confided in was her childhood best friend, Sophie. Theyd always been like sisters.
“Emma, just try a dating app,” Sophie suggested when Emma mentioned Mums nagging. “Fill out a profileyou might find a decent bloke. Or just look around! Surely theres *one* unmarried, respectable man in your orbit.”
“Right, Ill *definitely* think about that tomorrow,” Emma laughed. If she said that, Sophie knew the topic was dead on arrival.
“Tomorrow” smoothly became “after my business trip.” True to her word, Emma posted a profile upon returningmodestly listing herself as an “accountant,” omitting her actual title. Almost instantly, a man with towering self-esteem and abysmal spelling slid into her DMs (apologies in advance for the eye-watering grammar, but its key to Emmas suffering):
“hey, u can stop lookin now coz im the *bestest*.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would unsee the linguistic carnage. She ignored it, already questioning her life choices. Then came the deluge:
“y no reply”
“gimme ur number”
“wer u live”
“meet up”
“send address ill come”
“marry me”
“i see u online y u ignorin”
“u cheatin”
“u shud no im the bestest”
“u will be mine”
“im manly il say it like it is n it will be.”
“Maybe there *are* decent men on here, but clearly not for me. Just what I needa manly lunatic,” Emma grumbled, screenshotting the masterpiece and sending it to Sophie: “My soulmate has arrived. Off to cry now.”
She deleted her profile immediately. A few more suitors like that, and shed either lose her mind or her eyesight from deciphering their spelling.
“Emma, *when* will you get married?” Mum badgered again during Emmas commute.
She took a deep breath. “Soon. Alright, Mum, busy nowtalk tonight.”
Glancing at her chauffeur, James Wilson, she caught the faintest smile. A former military man, ten years her senior, sharp and steadyhed become more than just her driver over the years. He was a proper friend. And conveniently, divorced for a while now.
“James,” she said offhandedly, “marry me. Mum really wants it.”
“Well, if Mum insists, Ms. Pembroke,” he replied, equally deadpan, “cant say no to Mum.”
Truth was, theyd both fancied each other for ages, but professionalism held them back. Emma never saw him as husband material, and James? He never felt *worthy* of her title. When she “proposed,” he agreedassuming it was a joke. She thought *he* was joking.
So, half in jest, they tied the knot. And against all odds, it workeda happy marriage, shared hobbies, mutual respect, even two kids to delight the grandparents. Life, it seemed, had a funny way of sorting itself out.