You’re told that you’re perfect for a guy, and then you’re given a list of qualifications you need, none of which describe you.
Woman in Black (WiB): I have a boy – I think he’d be perfect for Bad4!
Good4: Great! What’s he like?
WiB: He’s smart and funny.
Good4: That’s just what she needs. How old?
Good4: That’s in her range.
WiB: Perfect! Ask her if she’d be interested in a snorkel equipment manufacturer.
Good4: Sure, I’ll find out tonight.
WiB: The family is very well connected, if you know what I mean. She can dress well, right? And be very social with strangers?
Good4: We-ell, yes…
WiB: Polite and diplomatic?
WiB: Charming, outgoing?
Good4: So… why did you think this was perfect for Bad4?
Her: I want to set you up with a guy…how old are you?
Her: Well, he’s older too.
Me: [silently] Well thank you.
Here I am, vacationing in Miami, resting up before the marathon, hanging on the beach, building a sandcastle. Two other runners are all the way out (it’s awfully shallow for a long way, ‘round here) looking like they’re having fun. I wave and go join them. I paddle up, tasting sea salt for the first time in… oh gosh, loads of years. We float on our backs, exchanging vital stats: who are you, where are you from, what do you do, how far are you running, have you done this before?
When I finish answering their questions, runner A turns to runner B and says, “I’m thinking David, what do you think?”
Add “150 feet into the Atlantic” to the list of strange places I’ve been asked about shidduchim.
Can’t a girl ever get away from it all?