If one more Israeli asks me “Did you come here alone?” and then reacts with absolute shock and disbelief when I answer in the affirmative, well, I will just have to throw myself into the Hudson river and call it a day.
Wait a minute.
I will throw myself into the Jordan river, if only I knew where that was, exactly. Near Aroma?
Which is another way of saying, why did I come here alone when everyone else in the world only ventures out two by two. I mean, what kind of nut job well into her 30s would uproot her whole life and move by her lonesome to a foreign land all the way across the globe?
And does she wear purple glasses?
I make myself review all the reasons why I came here, and there are many. I love the language and the feel of the place. I love how everything is throbbing with electricity, for better or for worse. I love that this is the Jewish state, even if, like everything else, this is complicated, indeed. And I do love my life. I love my friends and the little health food store a skip away from my light and airy apartment, and last but not least, I absolutely adore my yoga studio, which is the best in the world.
But what of my love life? Which is another way of saying, do I LOVE my love life?
Well, not exactly.
First, there is the disappointment of having the little romance in New York not work out. I had such high hopes for it, too!
And then Jdate is especially disappointing. It’s my age. Which is another way of saying, men in their 30s will not even consider me. I know that if I were to meet these same men out and about they (or some of them) would be open to me. But it is something about the internet where love is a commodity. Men just go for younger and younger women, which leaves the men nearing retirement age the only ones who will consider me.
Excuse me, but does it look like I graduated from the “nifty shifty class of fifty?” And by that I mean, 1950. Because those are the fellas emailing me on Jdate, thank you very clutch. Maybe they aren't wearing their reading glasses.
So what am I to do?
And was it even better in Chicago?
Which reminds me, when in doubt henna one’s hair. And make oneself some hot water with ginger and lemon.
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