Reply To: Crazy Shidduch Story

One of the posters hit the nail on the head – we have no idea what sort of “small talk” ensued as he was changing the tire, but having watched this boy grow up and having known his parents for many years I can guess that ANY aspect of his conversation was far more polite and less intrusive than the questions that seem to be de riguer in the world of shadchanus today – so, I suspect that he did not ask the girl how much money her father makes; or her dress size; or whether all aspects of her physical condition are healthy; etc. Most likely, “small talk” concerned the weather or how tightly the lug nuts were spun on the wheel.

I suppose, based on some of the comments in this thread, that we are headed quickly toward a kol koreih that will forbid girls from driving cars without “run flat” tires i.e., those tires that can run even when they have a puncture), so that they never c’v find themselves talking to a strange boy who might stop to help them.

But since I started this mess, I suppose I owe an update: I caught up with his mother after tehillim last night, and here is the “rest of the story” – he decided not to go out with the girl, because he does not want to be a source of machlokes between the her and the shadchanis, and he is also afraid the shadchanis could shter his chances in the future if he gets on her bad side. He asked his aunt to let the girl know, because he figures that additional personal contact at this point will only make things worse. And, he did not feel right about accepting the gift certificate, but thought that it be (a) rude to return the gift, and (b) cause more trouble, so he is giving it to the menahel of the yeshiva ketana down the block from where he changed the tire. The aunt offered to keep her ears open in the future, because the girl’s family lives down the street from her.

And now for post-script that will delight some readers and distress others: motzei Shabbos the aunt calls “Dovid” on his cell and asks him for two favors – (1) pull the suitcases from the attic because she and the uncle are going away for the thanksgiving, and (2) eat some of the Shabbos leftovers because she does not want to drei her kop finding space in the freezer while she is trying to pack. So, Dovid finishes his usual motzei Shabbos basketball game with his friends and heads over to his aunt’s house. He pulls the suitcases, and then goes to the kitchen where he transforms Shabbos lunch into a sandwich. The doorbell rings. The aunt shouts, “I’m coming,” and Dovid, being the mensch, goes to answer the door. Of course, of all people, it has to be the girl, who is coming by to pick up the keys because she is supposed to water the plants while the aunt and uncle are away. Awkward. Silence. Ensues.

The aunt now comes to the door, looks at the girl, looks at Dovid (who, straight from his basketball game, is in gym clothes and, noch besser, holding a dripping chicken salad sandwich), and looks back at the girl, and being the koch lefel that she is, raises an eyebrow and asks, “Coffee?”

(Sof maiseh, Dovid quickly excused himself and joined his uncle in the next room; when his aunt gave the “all clear,” the uncle accused the aunt of manufacturing the meeting; she responded to effect that if was interested in making a shidduch, she wouldn’t have had Dovid answer the door in a filthy camp t-shirt).

I guess now we’ll all accuse Dovid of being “in the wrong” because he (1) didn’t change after leaving the gym to go to his aunt’s house; (2) answered the door without using the peep-hole; (3) carried food from the kitchen without a plate.