Some people should not date. Some people have brains which are so convoluted that they should just be consigned to a lifetime of solitary living with a passel of cats or, at the most, matched up with someone at random and told “Voila! You are married”. They and their brains not have to undergo the agony which is dating. More importantly others should not have to undergo the agony that is dating them.
Some people would be me. And if it weren’t for the fact that 1) I have a severe allergy to cats 2) calf-length skirts and those high-collared shirts look really horrible on me and 3) Shabbat observance would mean I would NEVER get my sewing class homework done, I would totally go the cat or Haredi route.
(You know, now that I think about it, I am kind of wondering if “some people” could be expanded to “accountants and others of a suspicious nature”. I mean, I have never done a survey. Maybe I should! And then I can publish it and make lots of passive income! I am thinking about passive income because I am taking a personal finance course and the instructor told us that we should focus on passive income as a way of increasing our total income. Except—and I could be wrong on this point—I strongly suspect that there is not a particularly large market for surveys dealing with the mating habits of accountants and others of a suspicious nature. Never mind then. Back to the post.)
Right, so here is the problem. I mean, the first date, I am fine. I mean, I do not know the guy and the date will probably suck and we will probably despise each other and then (please G-d) never see each other again so what is there to worry about? And normally the first date meets or even exceeds all expectations so there is no second date so that is fine as well. But sometimes, on rare occasions, I have a second date. And my poor, demented little brain goes bonkers. It spends virtually every second between date one and date two frantically careening between extremes. One moment it is planning the wedding and the next it is imagining a scene out of CSI (which, incidentally, I watch far too much of) in which a bunch of crime lab specialists crack jokes over my battered corpse which has been abandoned in the woods. And then we are cooing over our first child! And then WHAM smack over to the other side of the brain in which he turns out to be a pathological liar! Or abusive! Or unfaithful! Or a cad! Or a con man who is going to abscond with all of my savings! Granted, seeing how no one wants my survey the sums will be paltry, but still.
Exhausting does not begin to describe it. If he is someone in my circle (read “an Anglo” because if you are Anglo and you are in Israel, my friends and I can find someone who knows you) the situation is not so bad. Make a few phone calls and it is easy to confirm that the suitor is who is says he is, has the job he says he has and is not possessed of criminal tendencies. But without that—utter mental exhaustion.
Last week, for instance, I went on a first date on a Sunday. We decided to go on a second date. That was scheduled for Friday night. That means I had five whole days for my brain to completely go to town. By Friday I had managed to freak myself out to the point that I deposited a piece of paper with my date’s name and phone numbers with my friend Galia. If I turn up in a ditch somewhere, I told her, this is where to send the police. Her response was along the lines of “no problem, but if you manage to get yourself killed on Shabbat, be aware that I am not going to do anything until Motzei Shabbat”. Hey, that is cool. Motzei Shabbat is soon enough. I mean, the system worked out fine with the bombing—no reason to assume that it would not be sufficient here. And, hey, I would be dead, so what would be the rush?
I know, I know. Deranged. Sigh….. Hmmmm....maybe this is why I am not married?