My secret ambition of becoming a matchmaker hasn’t faded, but I do have clarity on boundaries. My recent solemn vow is to never set people up on blind dates. Ever. There’s cruel and unusual punishment and then there’s the level of blind date, which is just one level below torturous. I know, I know, many people have met through unconventional ways, I just haven’t had the best of experiences.

It’s not like I had an extensive dating past, but I did have a share of people wanting to set me on dates. The usual suspects were mothers of sons who swore they had, the son who was absolutely perfect for me. I would usually decline the offers, but my boss gave me I, Issac, Take Thee Rebekah, a book about dating, romance, and lasting love using the biblical characters Issac and Rebekah. God used a matchmaker to connect those two love birds. I figured, He could be my Issac and I could be his Rebekah. What could this hurt?

It was the best [and by best I mean worst] blind date setup ever. When his mother linked arms with me to describe her son she whispered,  You will fall in love with him the moment you lay eyes on him. Seriously, that’s what she said. From his great hair to his blooming career as a firefighter, she was sure he’s be The One for me. At that point I hadn’t been on a date in months [and by months I mean years] and figured if God set up Issac and Rebekah through an Old Testament love connection, why couldn’t he do the same for me?

She gave me his phone number for his home line like an infomercial. It’s (213)-Michael*, she said with an amused laughed. She was obviously proud of the fact her son had a home phone number that she and every other single female could remember with ease. Despite the oddity of personalizing her son’s phone number—and the fact that he lived at home with his parents—I indulged in the humor of my life and called him.

Yes, I called (213)-Michael. [Insert slap here]

Why on earth would I call him? Because if God brought Issac to Rebekah through a blind date, I’m sure he could do the same for me.

Whatever delusional dream I was living in faded the moment he picked me up in a car blaring The Smiths and if he were Morrissey himself. I coyly stared out my window as (213)-Michael got out of the car in cuffed dark denim jeans, heeled black boots, a plaid shirt, and a coiffed hairstyle he stroked like the Fonzie from Happy Days. [I. Can’t. Make. This. Up.]

Ever the people pleaser, I decided to go through with the date [instead of ignoring the knock at the door which I debated doing]. Me and (213)-Michael drove down my street and a piece of my soul died with every wailing sound Morrissey crooned out. Over the music he asked, You into crafts? I was thinking we could make our moms some jewelry for Mother’s Day coming up next week. I couldn’t even think. Did he just ask about doing crafts?! On a date?! Yes. Yes, he did.

Before I could answer, (213)-Michael reached behind his seat and pulled out a craft box with beads, yards, puffy paint, and markers labeled MICHAEL’S CRAFT O’BOX**. He coolly said, Yeah, I’m a sensitive guy. I love making things for women I love. I tried swallowing the vomit in my mouth before I could answer, I’m not really into crafts… like on dates and stuff. Maybe next time?

He picked the restaurant which was a sweet gesture until I realized it was a 1950s inspired diner. It wasn’t that the diner was bad, it was that he looked like a character that belonged in that era and I, uh, well—I just sat on the patent leather red booth next to him as he drank a strawberry milk shake with a red and white straw in retrospective bliss.

As he’s talking about his mother [for the fourth time], I excused myself to bathroom and returned with a fabulous story as to why I need to immediately return home. I’m sorry, but I think I should go home. Your name isn’t Issac and my name isn’t Rebekah, and really, I don’t think this is going to work. 

So if I ever start my matchmaking business, one of the rules is that I will never do blind dates. And as for (213)-Michael, I never heard from him or his hair again.

Long live freewill, seeing dates vrs. blind dates, and God Almighty,
Matchmaker Bianca***

*The area code has been changed to protect the Fonzie… I mean Michael. I mean, “Michael.”
**Even til this day I wish I would’ve told him the correct label would have read: MICHAEL’S BOX O’CRAFTS.
***I’m not really a matchmaker. But if Matt finally sees my God-given talent in this area and allows me to open a business, I’ll keep you posted 😉