If You Like Him... (3)

I handed the phone back to Mrs. D.

"You know, he very nice boy. I know his mudder" she told me.

I replied with a nonchalant "Very nice."

"He come now. You see what he is, and if you like him, I can make shidduch."

WHAT?!?

"Ummm... it's ok. Really." I stammered.

"You talk to him when he comes. See if you like him. He very nice, I tell you. Good heart. I know his mum."

Yeah, you said that already. Gosh, this is uncomfortable. How do I get out of this?

I looked her in the eye. Then I squirmed and stammered again "Umm... I guess... whatever."

Then she began another shidduch story.

A few minutes later, Chananel showed up. He was a short fellow, complete with a scruffy beard and a hat unlike the ones my brothers wear. Definitely Chassidish. He did a double take when he saw me sitting in the room.

Mrs. D pointed at me and said "She gave you directions."

He looked at me uncomfortably. "Thanks."

No problem. Now would one of us kindly leave?

She directed him to another chair and stared pointedly at me, waiting for me to begin talking. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I was shell-shocked.

She looked at him. "Where are you from?"

Boro Park.

She turned towards me. "And where do you live?"

Flatbush.

Pause.

We both squirmed in our seats. Poor guy, I thought. He doesn't know what hit him.

Mrs. D didn't let up. She started another litany of shidduch stories. I tuned her voice out, wishing I was somewhere else. The whole situation was ludicrous.

All of a sudden, my cellphone rang. It was my mother. "Where are you? You finished yet?"
"Don't ask, mom. I''ll be finished soon. I'll talk to you when I get back." I hung up the phone.

Chananel took the momentary lull to go call his mother.

Mrs. D looked at me again and asked "So, do you like him?"

I answered "Well, he's nice and all, but not for me. Thanks for trying."

She looked flabbergasted. "How you know he not for you? I tell you, he has such good heart. You don't find better."

"He's Chassidish. He's not for me."

"How you know he's Chassidish? I never knew such a thing. I don't think he is."

"He is. His long jacket and hat kinda make it obvious." I wasn't giving in.

"I don't think he is." she insisted. "You know what? I'll ask him."

Oh dear. No, please don't do that!

I stared at her. This woman was going to drive me crazy. "I'm telling you he's chassidish. You don't have to ask him. It's obvious."

Just then, Senior D called us in. When Mrs. D told her mother of the shidduch I wouldn't listen to, her mother looked at me, then at him, and with a curt shake of the head said "Loh. Hooh loh hazivug shelah."

And that was that.

I went through the whole towel and lead ceremony; she gave me some perakim of tehillim to say every day and a few strange practices to do, and I was through.

I ran out of there. The second I got outside, I burst out laughing.
I laughed all the way to our apartment...