Our daughter sends a family-thread text: A single Dad is moving in next door. Just met his mom who ended our talk with a hug.
Fortunately, she has a little more information. His mother calls him the most compassionate, selfless man. She's excited for him to move forward. He loves to mountain bike.
One of her sisters responds, Oh man this mom is laying it on thick.
I hope she is accurate.
You know how those moms love their sons.
Daughter with the prospective new neighbor answers: Oh I know all too well! It was funny. I hope so too.
It is at this point when I see the thread. Is this providence?
I must admit I'm a little excited. How old is he?
As it is the night before we leave on family vacation, I add, Sort of a tantalizing piece of information. Hopefully he'll be moved in when you get back. It might be exciting to return home.
A few more texts go back and forth before I realize: I feel like I'm in a Jane Austen novel.
My overzealous English novel-take on the situation is squelched when the next thread comes back: We'll see if he moves in.
What? I re-read through the previous messages and see that our daughter's first message actually read A single Dad MIGHT be moving in next door.
I have been behaving as the over zealous lust-infused mother who wishes to see her daughters settled and happy. My comportment and common sense have been overrun by emotion and hope, and indeed I have become, dear, Mrs. Bennet.
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