The logistics that go into this first date are many.

Location

As The Boy enters your sparkling-clean abode, he can be easily fooled into thinking that your house is always this spotless. After all, it’s 6:45 p.m. on Tuesday. The kitchen table is empty of any supper residue (no dirty dishes, spilled orange juice, three green beans, and peanut butter), the house is peaceful and quiet (except for muted shrieks of laughter from the basement), and the table is free of homework/bills/papers and random assorted pieces of someone’s penguin poster for school. It’s a good thing that The Boy cannot see the other half of the kitchen from his perfectly positioned spot at the table, for if he saw the piles of dirty dishes, leftover meatballs and spaghetti, and stacks of junk, he’d be sure to never return. After all, do you think they ever eat meatballs or make penguin posters in his house? Of course not.

Time

Planning a mutually convenient time for a date is the job of a full-time secretary. Unfortunately, the kind and considerate shadchan gets tasked with the chore instead. He has seder, you have work. Your best friend is getting married on Thursday night, he has an aufruf in Detroit this Shabbos. You’re leaving to Eretz Yisrael for vacation on Monday night, and he is going away after that. After many long texting exchanges, phone calls, and clarifications, you set a time. As you gracefully exit your house at 6:45 p.m. on Tuesday evening, you become aware of the stares of countless neighbors, perched on their scooters. “Why was your sister going into a car with a boy?” you hear your neighbor ask your little sister the next day. “That is none of your business,” she replies self-importantly.

Participants

To tell or not to tell: That is the age-old question. When the children of the house find out about the upcoming date, pandemonium and excitability ensue as they plot the best way to spy on the date. Some poor hiding places: behind the playroom door, the basement stairs, behind the curtains in front of the house. Some obvious hiding places: behind the living room couch, in the kitchen, in the front hallway. Matters quickly become heated after unconvincing arguments (“I’m telling you, this isn’t so interesting”), leading to bribes (“If you stay quiet, you’ll get three Slurpees each”), and then to threats (“If you make any noise, you aren’t getting invited to the wedding”). After half an hour of negotiations, the noisy children are quickly encouraged (pushed) down to the basement as The Boy knocks on the door. As the laughter, fighting, and yelling filter through the not-so-closed basement door, you send up a tefillah that they stay put until you leave. Alas, as you step into the evening breeze, you see curtains fluttering, doors slamming, and heads poking out. Said siblings will further incriminate themselves later when they share their opinions on The Boy’s height, car, and suit. To all siblings out there: If you see something, say nothing.

Refreshments

As befitting any company, The Boy will be offered some delectable baked goods, sparkling cold water, and a plastic cup, all of which he will politely decline. If you have no time to bake, no worries. You can put out leftover freezer-burnt cookies from a kiddush, stale cookies from last week, or plastic toy cookies that look real, and no one will know. When you arrive back at the house, starving after your date, you will find an empty plate of crumbs — the aforementioned siblings helped themselves to a stale consolation prize for being locked in the basement for a grand total of five minutes. If you would like to be economical, you can buy rugelach, shellac them, and hot glue them into a bowl to take out for each date. Just make sure to burn them with the chometz.

Looking forward to sending you a l’chayim invitation very soon! The house will be clean, fresh cookies and water will be served, and the whole family and neighborhood will be in attendance. Can’t wait to see you there!

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 920)