My sister is to matchmaking as Velveeta is to fondue. It seems like a good idea, but inevitably it’s a hot mess.
My sister has moved from one long term relationship to another and landed herself in a marriage and a house. Lately it has become her mission to marry me off, too. Or at least get me happily dating in Chicago to reduce my flight risk. But after years of serial monogamy, my sister has lost her game.
A couple of weeks ago I brought her to a fundraising event where she won over the crowd with her grace and charm. “Wow, you’re an architect? You know, my sister loves buildings. You should talk to her. She’s the one over there–the one with two Chardonnays.” Then she proceeded to write down my name, email and cell phone number on the back of her business card, framed it with a heart, and handed it to him.
Needless to say I never heard from this guy, but that doesn’t stop BamBam from clubbing men over the head and dragging them back to the sister cave. And this problem has only gotten worse since she bought a house. I get calls at least twice a week. Yesterday she called and didn’t even say hello, she just jumped right in.
“We’ve got a hot roofer,” she said, frantically. “I think he’s got kids, but I don’t see a ring. Do you want me to stall him until you can get over here?”
Then there’s the termite guy. And the fence guy. And the general contractor, who she can’t understand, but she’s pretty sure it’s just the accent, not the fact that he’s a drunk.
And week by week BamBam lines up the suitors, and yet, somehow, I still wind up alone in the cave.
Related Disasters:
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discgal
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http://disasteronheels.com/2010/07/fine-lines/ Fine Lines | Disaster On Heels
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http://disasteronheels.com/2010/11/the-great-fake-out/ The Great Fake Out | Disaster On Heels
