Dare to fall

part 2

What's up bitch-nuts!" Scarlett screams as she flings open my front door. "what's for dinner? Please say tacos."

"How do our kids not have the worst vocabulary?" I laugh, eyeing Cleo hiding behind her mum’s legs.

"Cleo, is bitch-nuts a mummy word or a Cleo word?" She asks her 5 year old clone.

"Mummy word." Cleo whispers.

"See? Parenting books don't know shit. She will hear worse at school anyway and what is it you're always saying? Homes are for free expression and all that jazz."

"Not good impressions, yes. And hey no judgement from me, we have learnt all the best words from each other." I say, handing her the tomatoes. "Make the salsa would you. Lo’s in the toy room Cleo, if you want to go play."

The words are barely out of my mouth before Cleo is racing down the hall.

"Ok spawns are busy, where are you hiding my margarita?"

***

4 hours, countless tacos, Frozen one and two later, and the kids are fast asleep.

Scarlett and I veg out on the couch flicking through tinder and seeing who can find the most cringe worthy bios. This pastime is the only reason I even let her talk me into creating an account. I've had it over a year and have yet to swipe right. Scarlett isn't as cynical as me. She goes on a few dates here and there.

"Found any you're willing to swipe right on?" She asks, reading my mind.

"God no." I laugh.

"B, you're going to have to eventually. If not for love then for... loven." She says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Its been over 4 years. You haven't gotten any since Lo was 9 months old. How have you not exploded."

"Well I have a kind best friend who got me a vibrator a month after she met me." I laugh, thinking back to when we met, 4 years ago, at a single mums group my sister forced me to go to. We shared an instant bond through our hatred of mother’s groups. Plus, we were both lacking that part of our brain that says, "don't say that in front of strangers." So when the leader of the pod people asked what brought us all to that mothers group and we answered "fucking bitch sisters" at the same time, we knew it was meant to be. Naturally we were never invited back, which wasn't surprising given all the dirty looks we received.

"You told me you were just using your hand!" She shudders "Like a peasant. I couldn't let my new B.F.F live like that."

"Peasants didn't have Wi-Fi to watch porn. And besides, I still swap out Mr Pink for trusty hand anyway."

Scarlett snorts. "I cannot believe you named your vibrator Mr Pink."

"Well you got me the Pink one! And I can't believe you don't name any of yours."

"You've distracted me from my point. You need to get laid. Quit picking all the tiny wrong things with each guy on here and start swiping right to a few. They aren't all useless life sucking wankers like He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"He isn't Voldemort. You can say his name." I laugh. "Tyler. Just don't say it three times in front of a mirror, you might conjure him."

"Stop trying to change the subject. Give me your phone."

I hold my phone well out of range of her reaching hands. No way will I give her free reign. It's easier, in a way, for Scar. Cleo is a happy product of a one-night stand where they were both too drunk to exchange names let alone numbers. Sure, she doesn't get child support, but she also doesn't have to deal with an asshole ex and disappointing father figure for Cleo.

"No way am I giving you access to my tinder account. I'll end up matched with someone who has a foot fetish, or worse, just because you've decided I need to expand my horizons."

"I know you hate feet so no. Whips maybe. Everyone can use a little kink is all I'm saying." She says, raising her hands as if to surrender. “Just go on a few dates. Don’t give them any other ways to contact you other than messaging on Tinder, because girl you do not want some fuckboy finding you on social media and creeping into your DM’s at 3am. Not to mention the awful dick-pics if you add them on snap. But just have a little freaky fun if the date goes well.”

“Have you met me? The date will not go well. I am socially awkward and have no filter. It will end in disaster.” I whine as she hands me a new margarita, which tastes suspiciously stronger than the batch I made earlier. The fact that she has a bottle of water tells me she is the designated parent tonight, so I down half the drink before picking up my phone with a newfound purpose. “How do you pick who to swipe right on? They all look like losers, 40-year-old virgins, or guys who spend more time looking in the mirror than I do.”

“Babe, even the ones that don’t look like any of those still end up being one or more 9 times out of 10. You can’t weed out the duds without actually talking to them or meeting them.”

“Fuck I hate you.”

“You love me. Now come closer I’ll help.”