Recently I had one of the more unusual experiences of my dating life. I had traveled to my hometown of San Francisco for the funeral of a beloved family member, but I’m embarrassed to reveal that this sad occasion also turned into something akin to a matchmaking maelstrom. And I was the eligible object bandied about with a good bit of fervor.
Indeed, not one, but two charismatic Jewish mothers took it upon themselves to steer their eligible, unmarried sons in my direction at the post-funeral gathering.
“Connie, he’s fun, he’s bright, he’s nice, he’s handsome,” insisted one mother, heaping one accolade after another on her son. Whether or not those were more adjectives than he deserved, I’ll concede that he was a good- looking, amiable man.
So taken was this mom with me that she even asked for my phone number when her flustered son didn’t do so despite telling me that he found me pretty.
As for the other yenta-minded mom, this old family friend singled me out point blank at the gathering to promote her son, the successful doctor whom I hadn’t seen since childhood.
“Connie, he’s still single,” she gleefully informed me with an impish grin on her face. “He’s quite a catch.”
I have to confess that all this motherly attention was flattering. Come to think of it, I’ve been reinforced by the highest, unfathomable praise. Two charming Jewish mothers think I’m good enough for their sons. What higher compliments could I get than that?
Both conversations also were quite entertaining: I felt like I was on a TV version of “The Jewish Mothers’ Dating Game” where one mom after another was trumpeting her son’s virtues so he’d win the big night on the town with me.
After these two episodes, it dawned on me that in my efforts to turn up Mr. Right, I’ve been overlooking a great way of meeting nice Jewish guys: Their mothers. How could I have bypassed the age-old yenta custom?
Remember, we were at a get-together after a funeral when all this mother meddling — I mean matchmaking — was occurring. Despite the occasion, I am absolutely certain that Trudie, my dad’s late cousin — a most charming, dynamic, vivacious lady — would have chortled with gusto from above if she could have seen the goings-on.
That’s because matchmaking was one of Trudie’s passions before she passed away at 85. In fact, if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have been born. She was the one who introduced my parents, who’ve been racking up the wedding anniversaries.
As I witnessed at Trudie’s post-funeral gathering, mothers out there are clamoring to do some good, old-fashioned yenta-ing.
So, I invite you, my female comrades, come join me in giving mothers a chance to feel useful. But we ladies do need to tread lightly when it comes to moms and their songs. First of all, we must bear in mind that mothers can be quite blind to their sons’ foibles. What they see as endearing traits might be anathema to many date-minded ladies. For example, mothers, might find it cute when their sons make gurgling noises while consuming their chicken soup. Most women, I daresay, would find such behavior off-putting.
Slurping aside, Jewish mothers out there, I’m willing to be your guinea pig despite the potential obstacles and challenges. I’m game to learn about your smart, fun, good-looking, eligible, over-35 sons.
But, mothers, we do need to concede that it’s perhaps best to approach this dating tactic with some healthy cynicism, if not wariness. How do I put this delicately? You see, moms, sometimes you can be too assertive and your sons will end up doing the opposite of your wishes. You really can’t blame your grown sons for not wanting to feel pushed into anything, much less into a relationship with a single Jewish lady, especially by his mother.
Indeed, I suspect that for some of your sons, your above-board overtures might be too threatening. No matter. Together, I’m sure we could concoct an innocuous scenario whereby I “accidentally” meet your son and you’re out of the equation.
For instance, mothers, we could arrange for you to invite your son over for a Shabbat dinner on Friday night and I could just happen to show up to “return” your “lost wallet” while his mouth is full of challah. Or I could just happen to get the seat next to you and your son at the theater.
So, Jewish mothers out there, feel free to send me your sons post haste. I hereby promise that you’ll always be welcome to celebrate Passover and the High Holy Days with us.