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Matchmaker, Matchmaker

My first shitach came to fruition. And now you must be wondering what in the h-e-double hockey sticks does shitach mean. Simply, it’s a Yiddish word signifying a set up between two people. And I stand here to declare that my Yenta ways (see Fidler on the Roof) finally paid off. I set two people up, well sort of, and they got married this past weekend.

I should clarify the set up part. I inadvertently got them together by embarrassing one of them into speaking to the other. If I had been allowed to make a speech at the wedding (I think they were afraid I’d embarrass them once again) it would have gone a little like this…

In April 2006, I was in a fratastic bar in the West Village called Fiddlesticks. I was just a few days from moving out west and was enjoying my last moments in New York City with my girlfriends. We found an actual table with chairs in the corner of the bar and proceeded to tell dirty stories, per the usual. But then a boy walked up. Not a douchebag as would be expected from the type of bar we were in, but an actual nice guy and he was cute as well. He was desperately trying to speak with my friend – we’ll call her friend A. She turned her back on him multiple times. He didn’t give up. Instead he made light conversation with friend A’s friends at the table. He and I spoke about snowboarding and I thought, here’s a decent guy who’s intelligent, funny and not a tool. Friend A fiercely ignored him, not because she didn’t like him, but she was used to speaking with idiots and assumed he was the same as all the rest.

I called her out…big time! Out loud, in front of him and the rest of the table, I told her she needed to give him a chance because he was nice, smart and cute…and he has good hair. Both of their mouths dropped open in reaction to my lack of self-filter. But…it worked. She spoke with him…for a while. When she excused herself to the ladies room, I caught her on the way. “Do you like him?” She replied with a few big nods and a smile, one that had been missing for too long. While she was gone, I spoke to the cute guy with good hair. I let him know he was safe to ask for her phone number. He didn’t believe me, but I persuaded him that she would not bite his head off as he presumed.

Not exactly your typically shitach, but one that I can be proud of accomplishing. I sensed integrity in this guy and took a chance on cajoling my friend A into submitting herself to an uncomfortable, but ultimately rewarding, experience. Their wedding this past weekend was fantastic! It was so nice to be with my best friends and completely love and respect the person they chose to be with. That can be a deal breaker, not liking your friend’s person. Luckily, I haven’t been to a wedding in which I didn’t appreciate both parties in the union and I hope I never do.

Next time a matchmaking opportunity arises, go for it. The worst that happens is that it does not work out between them and they hate you. Better luck next round. I will never tell which round this match is!

For your viewing pleasure, a foul-mouthed Jewish number. Don’t feel sad if you need Jewish translation.

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