Once we sat down, he asked me about my hobbies, and I realized I didn’t have any.

By the time I thought of one he had already given up and moved on to staring into his seltzer glass as if hoping it would suck him in and transport him somewhere appealing. He looked hideously bored. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad date.

I tried to ask him questions about himself to get the conversation going, but he answered them all in monosyllables. I waited for him to ask me something, but apparently he’d only prepared “hobbies.”

I hope you sit on your hat, I thought. I hope the next time you go on a date you get lost driving her home and end up in Australia.

My cousin Sara’s chassan rented a Manhattan penthouse for his proposal, and my Aunt Leah’s husband takes her out to dinner twice a week, and my roommate Chaya is engaged to a guy who sends a new Pandora bracelet charm to her house every evening. Guess who forgot to put water bottles in the car?

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad date.

That’s what it was, because after we left the hotel, we went to an arcade, and I lost every single game even though he tried to let me win. “Come back next week and try again,” said the guy at the counter.

Next week, I thought, I’m going to Australia.

When we went back to the car, he shut the door on the hem of my dress, and while I was waiting for him to realize, he walked back to the driver’s side, and then when it started to hit me how I would probably have to do this another couple dozen times with another couple dozen blockheads, I teared up, and he heard me sniffling and didn’t say anything, and I snorted really loudly sniffing my feelings back up my nose, and it was really awkward, and I wished he would just say something, or at least offer me a tissue, and he didn’t, and when we got on the freeway I realized my dress was still caught in the door and I had to sit funny all the way back.

I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad date, I thought.

The shadchan set my friend Tova up with a nice normal guy. The shadchan set my sister Rochel up with a nice normal guy. The shadchan set my neighbor Shira up with a nice normal guy. I wanted a nice normal guy but the shadchan said, “We’re all sold out.” She made me go out with a blockhead, but she can’t make me marry him.

When I got home from the date my mother asked how it went, but I was too miserable to talk. She also said the shadchan wanted an update by tomorrow morning, and I tried to come up with something to say but just ended up crying into my diary and getting the pages all wet. An hour later, I was Googling Zillow listings in Australia when the shadchan called to say he never wanted to see me again.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad date.

My mother wants me to go to another meet-the-shadchan and I hate meet-the-shadchans.

My sister thinks I should edit my bio and I hate editing my bio.

My coworker wants to set me up with all the wrong people, my nieces and nephews are starting to ask uncomfortable questions, strangers at simchahs ask for my Tehillim name, and my dating coach says I need to remind shadchanim I exist. I shouldn’t have to remind shadchanim I exist.

When I went to bed, I thought I would fall asleep right away, but instead I lay awake envisioning myself as a cat lady before remembering that I am severely allergic to cats. I laughed about that one for about an hour, but at some point it turned into tears again.

Nice normal guys want to date my friends and my neighbors and my sisters. Not me. Apparently not even blockheads want to date me.

It’s a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad system.

My mother says the system is like that everywhere. Even in Australia.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 922)