Last year I celebrated two milestones in my life. First I celebrated my tenth annual thirty-ninth birthday; and for the first time in thirty years I went out on a blind date. Things haven’t changed much in thirty years. You still sit there wondering if the only time you open your mouth will be to change feet. And an attached female friend probably fixed you up. In fact, you probably met your date in one of two ways. The first I call the “knows a” who “has a” who “is a” chain. The second is the long arm party syndrome.

First the “knows a” who “has a” who “is a” chain. It goes like this. You’re walking through the mall minding your own business, when you see a friend — always a married woman. “Hey Abe, Abe, I’ve been meaning to call you. Listen I have a friend who knows a librarian, who has a friend, who knows a lady who has a cousin” — well you get the picture. And at the end of the dissertation comes “who is an” unmarried lady of some sort — a widow a divorcee never been married. She then goes rummaging through her purse looking for the phone number.

Now this is a miraculous event. First, she has just gone through a ten minute listing of the “knows a who has who is a” chain, but she just happens to have the phone number in her purse. She also has permission to give it to you; this isn’t the bathroom wall you know. Moreover, that phone number made its way through that long chain of people and got lost in her purse.

Then there’s a marketing problem involved. I’ll give you the prime example. The first woman I whom I took on a blind date chaired a professional association; ran her own business for ten years. When I asked for some information about the woman, the only information I received was that she had three teenagers. Now I’ve never had any children so you’ll have to tell me, but I don’t think three teenagers make a very good marketing point. These matchmakers need marketing help —maybe a course, economic 307 marketing for matchmakers, how to sell the over forty singles.

The second method is the long arm party syndrome. It’s equally simple. You walk into a party or other social gathering. You’re not through the door five seconds when a friend, another married woman has grabbed you by the arm and is pulling you through the party saying “Abe, Abe there’s somebody you just have to meet.” Have you ever noticed that over forty singles always have one arm longer that the other. That comes from being dragged through parties for somebody you have to meet.

Now I was always taught that when you enter a social gathering you greet the host or hostess, talk to the guest of honour if there is one. And generally speaking those are the rules of good manners. But if your over forty and single the rules change.

There’s Bill Gates over there; I sure would like to join his conversation. And over there is George. He owes me $5000 and has been ducking my calls for six months. But no, when you’re over forty and single you are only allowed one goal at a social gathering — find a partner.

Anyway, this woman is dragging you through the party and you look up and there’s another woman who’s dragging a third woman by the arm. You meet somewhere in the middle.

Now this is also a minor miracle. Remember you’ve been in the party five seconds. In that short time these women have managed to locate both of you and drag you half way across creation to a seemingly predetermined spot. The logistics amaze me. What do they have a spotter on the roof with a walky talky. “Matchmaker one Matchmaker one this is matchmaker two he’s arrived begin plan A. I repeat he’s arrived begin plan A.”

Then come the introduction — that infamous introduction you learn to dread. “Abe meet Sally, you two have so much in common. You’re both single.” OK we’ll just go over here to the loser’s corner. The only thing that matters is that we’re both single. I’m a Zionist; she’s a card-carrying member of the PLO. No problem, we can work those minor differences after were married.

That’s the galling part of the entire exercise. You go out on one date and these matchmakers have you married. I don’t know whether they are so happy in there own marriages that they want to share the joy; or is it a case of misery loves company? I haven’t figured that one out yet — and I don’t think I ever will.

If I may, I would like to get serious for a moment. I understand you are just trying to help. Since my wife died I have been very lonely. I appreciate the fact you are trying to find me some companionship. And I am looking to date. I am looking for companionship. But I don’t know if I want to get married again. I was happily married for twenty-five years. I know marriage is a great institution. I just don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life in an institution.

Email Abe, this stories author.