matchmaker, matchmaker

Now that I’m a college graduate and I’m back in Houston, everyone I meet has their eyes on the prize: finding me a husband.

I’ve heard before that this happens–you’re a nice, single, Jewish girl and you inevitably provide all the wannabe yentas with an insatiable hunger to set you up.

And you know what?

I love it.

I know some people complain about it, and maybe I will too by the time I’m in my late 20s–by then it could just make me feel bad about myself for still being single–but for right now, it’s a great feeling.

It’s a bunch of people sending you the message: “I like you. I like you so much that I’m going to have a stake in your happiness.” Who wouldn’t want that?

Even though none of these matches have had any prospects, I really don’t mind.  I’d rather the right person come along a little later, anyway.


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