Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Stupid Cupid

One thing living with a cat does is that it raises the bar for suitable men in your life by several notches. I am shocked how I wound up falling in love and getting married despite my feline love interests of rather exacting standards.

I figured, if it can happen to me, how dare it not happen to my best friend? (this is one of the side effects of being married—you can’t bear a singleton’s open-ended life). Although, in retrospect I wonder why I ever attempted to disturb her equilibrium.

Anyway, I am guilty of playing cupid on two accounts.

The first time, it was a Goa-based restaurateur, best friend of bad boy I had a thing for. He seemed okay—smart, articulate, well-mannered, and all those things men are when they are playing the field. Anyway, I thought it was a perfect setting for double dates, in case bad boy and I worked out. Thankfully, we didn’t.

But bad boy’s best friend took a shine to my best friend. And I played catalyst, and egged her to go out with him. She did, and never forgave me.

She didn’t like the fact that he whistled for no apparent reason, and smoked without asking if she minded.

She hated his fake American accent.

She didn’t like the fact that he drove a car smaller than hers.

The last straw was: she didn’t like him getting a doggy bag packed from the restaurant on their date. Now this objection I could not sustain, since I always get doggy bags packed, as I hate wasting food. But her point was—you can’t do that on a first date.

Okay, point taken. I make a retreat.

Time passes. I meet old work buddy. I scheme again. Okay, this time I thought I got it right. He was into Akbarnama. She was into Akbarnama. He like Mir’s poetry. She liked Mir’s poetry. He kept a good house. She kept a good house.

Perfect, I thought.

It wasn’t.

He was smitten. She was not.

He was a “What’s up?” kind of a guy. She was not.

He was late. She was not.

He lived to eat. She ate to live.

End of story.

Needless to say, I got flak for it. “How could you?” she screamed.

Now I have a rather charming investment banker friend I would like to see her with, but I am resisting. Twice bitten, thrice petrified.

Till I found her a match she would give me her right kidney for. I put her in touch with someone who had found a kitten on the road and wanted it to be adopted. She responded immediately, “I want him..!!!” I was stumped.

Okay, finally I found her a suitable boy!

It’s been a year and now she doesn’t get enough of him, shoe shopping and salon time, so why add a man to that and complicate things?

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