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Have I Got A Guy For You
As nature abhors a vacuum, I abhor an unattached male.
I don't know if it's inherited or what, but some of us seem to have a mutant gene that drives us to fix people up, even against their wills. It seems to be an ethnic trait that crops up in the chromosomes of people who talk with their hands.
I am divorced, old, and have no interest in the opposite sex myself anymore, but my matchmaker compulsion lingers. I rebel against the notion that people can find love on their own—or through a dating app. Swiping right and finding Mr. Right is like winning the lottery.
Whether they realize it or not, friends need me to find love for them. Just tell me someone's available and my mind starts sorting through my singles data bank. No possible match, however farfetched, is dismissed.
This rather aberrant personality trait might be more winning if I was actually any good at fix-ups. But I’m as ineffective as Sima Taparia on Indian Matchmaker whose clients never seem to get married At least not to each other. My fix-ups tend to end similarly, if less politely, with an irate phone call, “What were you thinking? How could you think I’d ever be interested in that loser?”
Sadly, I can't count the times I've had to eat the words have I got a guy for you.
Fix ups used to be easier back in high school and college when I was young--in the Pleistocene era. We made out in cars, and there were lots of boys who wanted to meet girls. Remember those double dates that happened when you and your boyfriend were going out and he had a friend and you had a friend and you both dragged those hapless friends along under the misapprehension that just because you liked each other, so would they. You could spot these arrangements immediately by looking at who was sitting where in the car. One couple would be crawling all over each other while the other was glued to opposite doors.
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