Here’s a scene I’m sure might hit close to home. You’re in the club, chatting with the hot little number you just spotted from across the room. You can tell she’s into you by the way she casually touches your arm and laughs at all of your jokes, even the lame ones. You’re a heartbeat away from a done deal, when - out of nowhere - in swoops every man’s most irritating, repeating nightmare: the mother hen. You know what comes next.