For full effect, download “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” from the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
The older I get in life, the more I begin to wonder if arranged marriages weren’t such a bad idea. Think about it from a logical perspective at least. Your parents knew you, and vice versa for your potential spouse. In the majority of circumstances, the different families wanted the best for the kids they were lining up, and there was potential to make a load of livestock for each organized union. Who wouldn’t want eight cows for a bride these days anyway?
With that being said, I think I would have made a very wise Russian czar in the 1600’s with a keen intellect for potential mates and relationships, as that is the case now with me trying to set my Grandmother up with another grieving widow on the other end of the state.
Before you go judge me on this one, just hear me out. This is just a friendship between two women. This has nothing to do with romantic interests or L-word affairs at all.
Jerry Seinfeld: “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
This would be a bond between two ladies whose spouses kicked the bucket within a month of each other last year, and who are both at the same stage of the grieving cycle in their lives and could use another pair of ears to lament to on Saturday nights. I’m telling you, the best thing for an emotionally ailing Grandmother to have at this point in her life, is another ailing Grandmother that’s good at spring gardening, quilt making, and Hallmark-movie watching.
Just think about all of the fun two senile widows could have if they just moved in together. They would be able to watch “The View” every morning and agree with Barbara Walters whole-heartedly. They could exchange recipes for pineapple beef stew and oatmeal meatloaf and applaud the others culinary talent. They could challenge each other in pinochle, and give one another a respectable foe. And honestly, my Grandma sure needs one of those, I’m on a 41-game winning streak as we speak, and I’m feeling bad when I beat her while writing blogposts at the same time.
Seriously, that’s what I’m doing this very moment, I’ve got a 3900 point lead on her in the third hand, and I’m blogging in between turns, what does that tell you?
I’ve tried to get her to open up and expand her friend zone with other women. But the stubborn hag inside just throws up her walls, and refuses any kind of new social interaction. I failed miserably at teaching her the concept of Words With Friends on her iPad, and linking the two of them up online to play each other. But she says it would be too hard to stay consistent playing games like that, especially if her opponent lives in St. George, and she’s never met her or anything.
And she gives me crap for not wanting to commit to a serious relationship.
The last-ditch option I had was trying to talk her into getting a puppy, or a cat, or even a goldfish, but the lady won’t budge. How wonderful would it be to have another wrinkled woman next to her who hates pets just the same? In her eyes, it’s just another stinky mouth to feed that poops everywhere. But if she had another Grandma with her instead, it could take care of itself. And, the two of them could talk about consistent bowel movements rather than clean up for one another.
Michael Scott: “It’s a win/win/win scenario.”
Seriously, if I were born in a past life as a Polynesian island King, I would have been one of the best matchmakers out there, because I see the wants and needs of others, and can look for the most logical mate possible. That’s why I’m putting my Grandma on the market, and hopefully can find a reasonably priced housemate for her, simply so she won’t lose her sanity over the next decade.
I’m asking for 8-10 cows on this one. Any takers?
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