Three times a charm – and the charm is me. I’m a segula for getting engaged. For all the bachelors out there eager to meet their intended, here’s what you gotta do: have someone suggest you to me, and make sure that you sound utterly wrong and poorly matched. Then, while I’m dragging my feet about approving the thing, you continue dating. When I finally say “yes,” you will be about to propose to someone else. Go ahead – propose. Congrats – you’re a groom.
This happened three times. The first time, it was a “he’s a nerd she’s a nerd” match; I knew as much about the guy as the shadchan did, and I knew it wasn’t gonna work. (Those to whom these labels apply can tell the difference between a nerd, a geek, and a dork, and we don’t mix the breeds. My taxonomy is actually “geek,” while his was “dork.”) While the shadchan argued with me fiercely over two months, the young fellow in question proposed, was accepted, and went on to get married. Not to me.
The second time it worked even faster. A shadchan had a lineup of three for me – I think it was every single guy she knew – and not all of them sounded the faintest bit promising. After death and taxes, one thing was certain, and that was that I wasn’t going to marry guy #2 or #3. Luckily, over the four weeks or so during which she was playing the usual telephone tag game, guy #2 got himself happily engaged, and happily off my list. I’m still waiting on #3. (I went out with #1, so he’s lost his chance.)
Time number three, it was “he’s a smartypants she’s a smartypants” match from the same shadchan as the first one. (Yes, she has a very one-dimensional impression of me. It doesn’t bode well for her matchmaking success.) I actually agreed to go out with the fellow, albeit grudgingly. Due to communication difficulties, it took almost a month to get my information over to his end, and within 14 more days, he’d singled out his bashert. Mazal tov and baruch Hashem.
So, line up guys. If we’re efficient about this, maybe I can marry a few of you off before Lag B’Omer.