“All these married people think you’re hilarious,” my sister tells me.
It seems she keeps running into married friends who had read my columns about my search for love. Columns where I not only chronicle my exhausting and futile search for a husband in Israel, but where I lambast my married friends for making it all worse by consistently giving me bad advice.
“First of all, why do they all think you’re so funny? Don’t they realize how hostile you are towards them?” sayeth my sister.
An old friend got in touch out of the blue because she had a guy for me. That alone was newsworthy, but the thing that I could really write home about was the fact that this guy and I seemed to really click. And I mean, really! We had so much to say to each other on our first date that for a moment there I dared to think that maybe, possibly, I had even met someone.
Years ago - and I'm not kidding when I say years ago - there was this movie playing in the theaters called, "Nobody Loves Me." I was living in New York at the time and went with a girlfriend to see it.
"One for Nobody Loves Me," I said in full volume to the ticket lady. You can imagine the jokes that ensued.
But I am reminded of it every evening when I cook dinner. Because there is nothing sadder than eating alone.
Outside the SuperDeal in Talpiyot I fumbled to lock my cart and retrieve my five shekel piece when a very cute guy appeared. "Do you want my cart?" I asked, confused because there was a whole fleet of empty carts that he could have taken instead of waiting for mine.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Am I standing here for my health?”
“Or am I here because I think you're pretty?"
"Maybe," I said.
"You're right!" he said, handing me my five shekels and taking my cart.
Years ago I had this therapist who loved a certain gas station analogy. It went something like this: You keep going to this one gas station and they never have any gas. So why do you persist, trying to get gas out of an empty pump, when just across the street you could fill up your whole tank?
I thought of this after I made the mistake of calling a guy I used to date who consistently stomped on my heart. In other words, he had no gas for me, and yet, I kept trying to filler up. “How are things going?” I asked, after a hiatus of eight months.
By the time I got to the wine tasting in the Jerusalem Botanic Garden, it was way past dinner time and I was one cranky ladybug - which I didn't even try to hide from my new friends, a Canadian woman and a British man. "I'm going to check out the offerings," I grumbled over my shoulder, leaving them in the dust as they poured over the map to see which booths carried kosher wine.