Friday Repost: Okay, THIS is Pressure

Last week’s repost was about family exerting “pressure” on you to get married. Following that post, someone sent in a real live example of pressure from her dear old grandmother.

…Well, no surprise there. Grandmothers are the main source of marriage-directed pressure in my life. Possibly the only one. I don’t understand why. They already have grandchildren. Do they also need great-grandchildren? Isn’t that just a little bit greedy?

Or is it something different? Maybe it’s like the difference between how you treat children and grandchildren. Grandparents can tell you the stuff your parents really want to say, because they’re not your parents.

If that’s the case, I don’t want to know about it…

Friday Repost: Snark in the House

From the archives: someone asked me if I’m feeling the pressure to get married now that my sister is wedded off.  My response was a tad… laden with verbal irony.

The truth is, I’m just thick when it comes to social cues. It’s very possible that people have been exerting truckloads of pressure, and I forgot to notice it. I didn’t feel friendless in 9th grade until the teacher kept harping on how normal it was to feel friendless and we all had to try to be friendlier. Then I started wondering, “Am I friendless?” Until then I was doing fine.

Asking me if I’m feeling pressure has the same effect. I dunno… am I feeling pressure? Let me check. Oh whoa! Is that pressure?

And then the whole can of worms opens up.

So please don’t ask me stuff like that.

Welcome Home

I wrote this in early September but for some reason it never got posted. Stumbled across it yesterday while cleaning all the files labeled “blog post” off my desktop.

Notes from my day:

Just off the phone with Grandmother #1 to tell her I’m back in town. She asks about my plans for the year. I say I’ll be finishing my degree at the end. She says that in addition to my degree I should finish the year with a license. A marriage license.

Just off the phone with Grandmother #2 to tell her I’m back in town. She provides a truckload of advice on guy-snagging and finishes by wishing me married by the end of the year.

Mother wants to know if I can go out with a guy tomorrow. Frowns. No, I need a haircut. How about the day after tomorrow? I ask if I can maybe have time to unpack my clothing and evaluate what’s left.

Good4 informs me that I have two months to get engaged before she starts dating.

Three children dating! No wonder someone’s been reading the Kupat Ha’ir booklet. This is the kind of situation that drives people to drink. Or chase segulos.

Good4 points out that I’m kinda old and maybe it’s time that I started a davening campaign for my zivug.

Good4 complains that the entire summer nobody spoke about shidduchim at all, and now that I’m home it won’t go away. I point out that, coincidentally, my summer had also been free of shidduch-talk, but now that I was home, nobody can stop talking about it. She has the good grace to blush.

Then, just to be annoying, I stick out my cup and ask her to fill it with water. “It’s good for shidduchim,” I say. She glares.

Honestly, people. I know you mean well and all that, but do you seriously think you’re doing anything constructive at all?

Wait, that’s a dumb question. I know you all do. I’ll just have to regrow the calluses that I shed over the summer so I can listen to you tell me how much I want to get married without feeling this powerful urge to move very very far away to someplace without cell phone reception and only once-a-month mail service.