"Can you believe this right,"
My mother leans in over the coffee percolator as if about to divulge some dark and unnerving secret.
"I offered to go half on the bill at the end of the meal... and he let me." She reclines in her chair rapidly, almost as if in triumph at the salaciousness of this revelation. "He let me! What a bloody cheek!"
I can't help but drop my head in my hands.
Because for someone who has never been particularly bothered about finding love, the modern concept of 'love' bothers me an awful, awful lot.