“Shoshie,” I said, “imagine what such a lack of empathy looks like in a marriage. It’s very, very lonely, frustrating, and sad”

Shani Leiman with Zivia Reischer

T

he shidduch seemed straightforward enough. Mordy was 26 and in school for software development, Shoshie was 25 and a speech therapist. Things were going well, and I was cautiously optimistic when Mordy let me know that he was planning a picnic for their fourth date.

They headed to Botanica, an enormous botanical garden with rare and exquisite displays — a beautiful venue, perfect for a relaxing day-date.

Mordy had been consistently enthusiastic all along, while Shoshie had been wavering, so I called Shoshie first to find out how the date had gone. She picked up on the first ring. “Don’t ask,” she said, before she even said hello. “I was totally mortified!”

Yikes.

She launched into her story. “Things were going pretty well at first,” she said. “We went to this garden, did he tell you?” She didn’t wait for my reply. “There’s an area where people picnic and he had brought lunch for us. So we went there, and he started unpacking all the food. Tons of food, oh my gosh, bagels and spreads and danishes and iced coffees and more, really thoughtful of him.”

“Iced coffee? Sounds good,” I said.

“Yeah it was, until the bees showed up.”

“Bees?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if we were near a beehive or they have bees there to pollinate the flowers or what, but suddenly there were bees buzzing all around us. I was trying not to scream, you know—”

I could picture it, poor ladylike Shoshie, trying not shriek on a date.

“And then I got stung!”

“No! Are you serious?”

“Mrs. Leiman,” Shoshie said grimly, “I’m allergic to bee stings.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“So what happened?”

“It was mortifying. And terrifying. My throat started to swell, I couldn’t breathe. I was waving my hands wildly. I needed to get my EpiPen. I knocked over the iced coffee and it spilled all over him.”

“My gosh, what did Mordy do?”