Girls, have you ever dated a guy’s mother?
I have, and I’m not the only one. The funny part is, the interview works in your favor. If you call all his official references, they’ll tell you nice, bland things about him. If you speak to his mother, however… Well. She knows him better than most people, and sees little wrong in what she knows. It can get entertaining.
Well, not quite. But the dynamics are the same. 
We care what people think of us. No matter how often we’re told that it doesn’t matter. We still care.
We care because it’s a lie that it doesn’t matter. Of course it matters! Those people who are thinking about you are thinking about whether to hire you or invite you to their event or set you up with their aunt’s second-cousin’s niece. Image control is important, and you need to know what people think.
Luckily, there are so many ways to find out what people think. There’s YouTell.com, in which friends can give you “anonymous” feedback on yourself. (“You smell!”, “I like the way you eat spaghetti so neatly.”) And we have good old fashioned RateMyProfessor for telling the world what you think about your instructor for higher education.
Let’s face it: people love leaving feedback. We use the letters to the editor column, the guest books at museum exhibits, Amazon product reviews, and the “leave a comment” button online liberally. Why are we so eager to give others anonymous feedback? I imagine it’s because we know that, in their position, we’d appreciate the constructive criticism. After all, without our personal feedback, how will they ever improve.
Doubtless.
But sometimes there just isn’t a feedback mechanism in place. Take elementary school teachers for example. How can a student safely provide feedback to his/her teacher? There is no way. And, more relevant to this blog, what about shadchanim? How does a single let the shadchan know that he/she completely rocks or, alternatively, does the exact opposite of rocking?
It was this problem that troubled Dented Skull, and let him to propose a solution, which I will publicize here.
Why not set up a RateMyShadchan.com?
On this site, one would rate the shadchan experience from 1-5 on several parameters. Some of these might be:
The visit –
Private/smooth/pleasant (5) - to – (1) interrupted by small children and cakes in the oven
The interview –
Broad but focused on what’s important to you (5) - to – (1) Just to check you out and box you in
The interviewer –
Listened and understood (5) – to – (1) Pretended to listen/argued/contradicted
Feedback –
None or a few delicately phrased suggestions (5) - to – (1) Provided harsh or negative criticism
Follow-up –
Within two weeks with a match (5) - to – (1) Haven’t heard back even after leaving messages
Matches (if applicable) –
Dreamy, wonderful dates (5) - to – (1) Offensive, completely off, or none
Note: there will be no chili pepper rating.
Does this idea have some merit, or is it just an excuse to vent against innocent do-gooders who can’t please picky singles?
I don’t know, but either way it sounds fun. Any web designers want to give it a try?
I’m busy. Yes, very busy. There are roads to run, chowders to cook, and game nights to plan.
The phenomenon described in this rather excellent post (if I say so myself) has not decreased with my advanced age. Rather, it’s been aggravated. I now get frequently greeted by “So what’s doing with you?” which roughly translates to “Any interesting guys lately?”
For the record, O Friends of Mine, I am no more pleased by your singlemindedness now than I was back at the ripe old age of 21. I am a girl of steady tastes. And my taste in conversation has not developed overly much. I still prefer conversation about alpacas over conversation about men. Non-existent men. Or even existent men, who are, quite frankly, none of your business.
Now pardon me, I have to search up an alpaca farm nearby.
Can someone please explain to me why people want to know in which shul my parents daven when doing shidduch background checks on me?
This question is inconvenient to answer because, living in Brooklyn, they are thoroughly surrounded by shuls, which pop up not just in large edifices with stained-glass windows, but also in random basements and converted houses on residential streets. Aboding as they are in this Garden of Shuls, they take full advantage of the smorgasbord. My vague understanding is that my father rotates between three preferred locations, although I don’t know if this is divided by “shacharis, mincha, ma’ariv,” or “Shabbos/weekday,” or is on some kind of weekly rotation. The womenfolk in the family stick with only one (it being equipped with a balcony).
I honestly couldn’t name all relevant synagogues. Nobody calls them by their names anyway; rather, by the name of their rabbis. Most of whom slip my mind at the moment. And who aren’t even known in the first place by the vast majority of Jews in Brooklyn, let alone OOT.
Truly, it doesn’t concern me from where my father comes home from shul, so long as he does arrive. And most weeks, it doesn’t concern me at all. Because I’m not there. And haven’t been. For a while.
So what does it have to do with me?
I admit, this article came as a bit of a shock. I always assumed, in a sort of vague way, that if I wasn’t married at 30 I’d freeze some eggs. I figured I’d do more research when the time came.
Well, it turns out that freezing eggs is over $9,000 a pop, and has at most a 50% chance of success. (Is that per egg or per batch, I wonder?) This information had on me the reverse effect the article intended.
But trot over and read it for yourself. And then let me know: would freezing your eggs be a relief or an additional stress?
HT to Kansasian
Lots of people hate on NEFs. They’re flighty, they’re distant, and they don’t shut up about being engaged. But really folks. Look on the bright side. Engaged people are great! For starters, they make you feel wonderful about yourself.
I mean, just for starters, you are a supremely good person for refraining from hitting them over the head. You know, like when they go into teenage angsty detail of their troubles — like that their future mother-in-law suggested that the menfolk wear matching bowties at the wedding — with the same level of apparent trauma that they formerly reserved for being reprimanded by their boss, getting dumped by a great guy, or crashing their car.
And they’re so easy to save! The sanity of an NEF hangs in the balance at all times. If you prevent that balance from tipping, you are her hero. Like when she calls you up at a quarter to five desperate because she has absolutely got to get somewhere and try on a dress tonight or something bad is going to happen (I spaced out for that part). Honestly: the library books aren’t due yet. The bike can wait another day for its tune up. And alternatives to working late are always appreciated. It’s not a big deal! But her fulsome (and slightly embarrassing) thanks make you feel like you just stepped out of a telephone booth in a cape and tights. In a cape and garishly colored opaque tights that probably wouldn’t pass muster at a bais yaakov.
And then they’re entertaining! Sometimes it’s just observationally, as in, “This woman used to be so level-headed, but a double-shot of oxytocin has completely unbalanced her.” Or when she insists that she’s really totally normal and her NEFness is all in your head, “Yes dear, you’re totally normal. This is us sublimating our jealousy into the more socially acceptable gentle mockery.”
Also, the whole bridal industry is set up to cater to nutty NEFs. They love them and encourage them. It’s amusing to be escorted through David’s Bridal by a woman purposefully stroking your NEF’s Eness:
“You don’t have to worry about a thing, I’ll take care of everything today.”
“So have you known Him long? How did you meet?”
“This dress is like a visual love letter.”
Did she just SAY that?It’s generally not nice — or even desirable — to mock your friends. But once your friend is infected by e. Bridus, she’s not really the person you befriended anyway. So it’s open season.
And finally, contemplation and meditation is always a worthy pastime, and NEFs offer you fodder for that as well. After all, if an NEF can get so completely dramatic about something they won’t remember in five years, you have to wonder: are you overreacting about anything in your life? What looms overly large now, but really isn’t significant in the grander scheme of things?
Consider, also, the NEF as a warning on the instability of the human psyche. You think someone is rational and self-aware. Then, next thing, they’re gushing about how sparkly their ring is (sounding rather like your 9-year-old niece), and having meltdowns over bowtie ideas (2-year-old nephew).
Makes me think I’d like to elope.
