Matchmaker at large

So we’re at this wedding. We’re celebrating this couple, reminiscent of our own wedding ten years ago last summer. And we meet this guy. He’s really nice. I look at him with all the benevolence of a happily married person. He’s really smart. He has a PhD and works with computers. He might be a nerd, except he’s not the sitting-at-your desk kind geeking out about obscure films, he’s the kind of nerd with an awkward intelligence. He’s single. Christian and I go home and I’m depressed that he’s single.

She’s single too, this other friend of mine.

Maybe they could work together. Maybe I should alert someone. Maybe I should play matchmaker. 

Or not. They’re a bit different. Maybe a person with a PhD can’t relate a lot to a social worker. What was I thinking.

Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I’m becoming like those widowed old ladies who can’t stand to see people staying single. Those widowed old women who clasp your arm in a mix of affection and control and say, too close to your face, how beautiful your children are. 

But what if there was a chance? What if I was the element that was needed to trigger their getting together? What if it could work? What if these two people could come together, provinces be damned, and find similarities? Some couples are made up with seemingly opposite people. And what if holding back I was denying their chance at a happily-ever-after? And then one day at their wedding they would give a speech and say “Thanks Jacinta for this set-up that lead to our day today”. And the guests would applaud and I would blush, and kids would follow, and he would think he was so lucky to have her and she would think she was so lucky to have him. Maybe it could work, right?

Never mind. I didn’t say anything, don’t say anything. 

*Disclaimer: while the feeling is based on truth the details in this post have been all made up.