A sinister new presence appeared in our home last week.
It was an otherwise ordinary day with no sign of what was to come… etc. Anyway, I walked into the kitchen and there it was, a slim pink volume, sitting on the counter, its Eichler’s sticker still in place. I jumped backward with a horrified shout.
“What is that thing?!”
“What’s what?” my mother rushed in, answering the alarm. A brave woman, truly. She’d rescue me from a burning building, without a doubt, but she just laughed when she saw the source of my agitation.
“Oh, someone mentioned it to me and I thought it would be interesting to read.”
“Well I’m not going near it!”
“You don’t have to,” she answered, sounding amused. (Can you imagine? Amused?)
The first time I saw that book was about two years ago. NEF #9, my Shidduchville correspondent, was over for Shobbos, and we were spending a leisure afternoon trying to get on each other’s nerves, with moderate success. I was reading to her snippets from the “Nine” chapter of an enneagram book someone had told me to read, while she read me snippets from that pink book, which audaciously includes the word “rules” in its title.
To be honest, there are a number of religious books I’d prefer eliminated at some point for the sake of our historical reputation. I cringe at the thought of 23rd century archeologists discussing the metropolitan subculture known as “frum” based on many of the artifacts and literature we’re going to be leaving behind. The Pink Book would be among them. But back to that Shobbos afternoon:
“You tend to minimize or ignore problems because it disrupts your peaceful existence,” I summarized a paragraph of nineness at her. She shot me a dirty look and did some reading of her own.
“You should ideally get a manicure once a week and before shidduch dates,” she intoned.
It was my turn to glare. She’d definitely won the round. I’d never had a manicure in my life.
“You’re lazy and often procrastinate doing unpleasant things until the last minute,” I shot back. It was a palpable hit; she never did homework until the morning it was due.
“You should get yourself a dating mentor – preferably someone happily married for a few years,” she returned the salvo.
“You’re accommodating and conciliatory,” I replied with zest.
“You need to make sure your beautician gives you the right shape eyebrows,” she shot back.
“My beautician?!” I squawked. “Who wrote that book?”
“Some English woman,” she said, reading the bio. “I don’t think they’re as big on career women in England, so the girls have nothing better to do with their lives than primp and wait to get married. Who wrote yours?”
“An overeducated pair of Jesuits with a taste for Brazilian mysticism,” I answered. “And they diagnose your author as having a bad case of three.”
Now honestly, I do believe a girl has to look pretty and presentable and all that, but beauticians and weekly manicures…? It seems a bit one-size-fit-all. After all, there are guys out there who don’t want primped up little dolls with hundred-dollar-a-week appearances. Ordinary and even dreary looking girls get married to guys who want nice, aidel wives with deeper priorities than looking drop-dead gorgeous.
There are a group of people who make a habit of playing paper dolls with dating girls. “They” are the “they” who make the dress rules and regulations for us. And when we seem incapable of following their rules, sometimes “they” step in to offer remedial help.
“I’m going to be dressing myself for the rest of my life.” That’s what I tell well-meaning individuals who offer to do me honors.
“But first impressions are very important,” they argue back.
You know, it’s very insulting when your supposed friends don’t credit you with enough sense to know that. OK, granted, I’m not the world’s snappiest dresser, but that’s because I’m actually the world’s pickiest shopper. I so rarely find something I deem worth wearing that’s also in my price range (it took me two years to find brown shoes I could bear to look at that were less than $300) that I prefer not to wear it out buying groceries. So I mostly wear “filler” items and save the good stuff for worthy occasions. I think a first date qualifies as a worthy occasion.
I’d like to argue that even the first date best impression has to be a person’s own. My favorite case study is the superlatively turned out NMF #6 who dressed NMF #4 for her first date with a very real forever learner. He later revealed that after the first date he thought she was just perfect, except her character didn’t jive with her outfit. He gave her a second shot and luckily, she dressed herself for her second date. After the third they were ready for a ring.
So while I understand these well-meaning individuals who want to play dress-up with the dating populace, I wish they’d shut up and go away and definitely not print books making manicures sound like the 11th Commandment. There are plenty of guys out there who don’t care, or think it’s a waste of time and money, or don’t understand why a white stripe at the top of your nail is supposed to be particularly pretty, and that’s the type of guy all us non-manicured gals are going to marry.
So there.
P.S. One nice thing about shidduch books, whether they be pink or purple, is that at least they aim to include humor. You may come out of a reading knowing no more than before about how to marry yourself off, but at least you’ll have a few good jokes under your belt. And isn’t that what dating is all about?
