When she finally speaks, my cousin says, “Your mum is very worried about who will take care of you when she is gone. I am a mum so I understand her concern.” S’nice. How can I possibly rebut second-hand Punjabi-Hindu-Mom-guilt?
“I found some more profiles for you,” she shares. Ugh. I don’t want her trolling the Internet for my husband. “Again, I think you should be dating no less than five men at one time. You’re in Manhattan use sheer population to your advantage. When you were living in stupid Minnesota no one came to meet you. Fine. Why should they come there anyway? It’s cold.”
“You visited in March!” I argue in defense of Minnesota. Just because I don’t want to live there doesn’t mean it’s without redeeming qualities. “Stop thinking with your heart and use your head,” she snaps. I sigh and say, “But that’s not right. Reindeer isn’t dating anyone else. And Kehar Singh (Post 4) thinks you’re off base, too.” She groans, “You’re taking advice from an emotionally stunted man who broke your heart and never plans to marry?” I turn on full sorority girl mode and drag each word, “Oh. My. God. He’s OUR friend. He’s YOUR best friend…”
“Look, I know you want an A grade guy but are you really A grade? No. You’re old. You’re slimmer but not that skinny. I think your standards are too high and you need to consider B grade guys.” Well now that I have been put in my place I say, “Why don’t I marry Prestige Uncle (Post 24)? He owns the pizza place and is damn sexy in the tomato stained wife beater and gold chains nestled in his salt and pepper chest hair. His idea of a date is a New York ‘Jankees’ game. Too bad I don’t like baseball!” Again, God, why? Why did I give up drinking? I could drink the bottle bone dry and then use it to hit myself on the head. Should be less painful than this.
Horrified she says, “Of course you should not marry an uncle type!” “You all just want me married so my parents can be free of their burdensome unmarried daughter. Then they can die in peace,” I snarl jaggedly. Oh yes, this conversation is definitely NOT my finest moment.
What annoys me, though it shouldn’t since desis are arranged marriage people, is the lack of discussion about actually LOVING the guy in these groom-hunting conversations. The fact that I seek a man who makes me laugh and has a comforting voice doesn’t seem to matter to anyone OTHER than me. I don’t need three years to decide if I want to marry, but I need more than three months. Sometimes, which is becoming more often than not, I think I should agree (read: settle) to one of these desi B Grade dudes and free myself of these conversations that leave me feeling wide eyed and plastered to the wall.
“I am trying to help,” comes her tired voice. “You’re not helping.” “Fine,” she says and the conversation ends.
Not only have I hurt her feelings I also feel like emotional shit. Can I not simply be allowed to fall in love with Reindeer? Of course, there is that pesky issue with his two profiles … why can’t I EVER catch a break?
To be cont.