Texting with a friend this week, we got into the subject of relationships. It was mostly the usual, but then I surprised myself by telling her I think I could get behind an arranged marriage if I had the right interview committee. I named the people I thought would be good for it, and we left the subject at that.
But then I continued to think about it, and it continued to amuse me the more people I added to my list. Thus, I present to you the panel of folks who will pick me a mister for my missus.
I’d start out with Julie and Kristy, two of the most intuitive, empathic, grounded women I know. They’d listen in on the proceedings, potentially dropping in a question here and there, trading cosmic intelligence with each other via eye contact, and they’d just know. They might not be able to tell me how they know however, which would annoy the crap out of my logical brain, so I’d have to bring in some other participants. (For the record, they’d probably be right in the end anyways)
I think next I’d bring in my friends Andrew and Molly–two of the funniest, silliest, most joyful people I’ve ever met. If he couldn’t make them laugh or smile, I’d have serious doubts. If I, watching behind the two-way glass, thought for even a moment he was tolerating their playfulness, he’d definitely be out. I’ve had my eccentricities tolerated before–not going back there, no thank you.
If he got thumbs up from Julie, Kristy, Molly, and Andrew–then I’d wonder what Claire and Peggy thought of him. In different ways, they have seen me in everyday action. Peggy, bone weary on the floor of the classroom with hours more work to go, and Claire in at least 300 hours of dancing in the last two years, as well as countless car rides and housesitting engagements. They know who I am when I am not trying to prove or justify or imagine who I am. If I ever go back to teaching, or find another all consuming work, Peggy will know if this is the type of man that can handle sharing. And Claire not only knows all sorts of secrets, I’m sure, from watching me dance, but has similar OCD tendencies to me and will be able to determine whether his cologne is too strong or he is liable to leave the cap off the dish soap.
Next, let’s not forget that I want to have years and years of yummy, delicious, connected, smokin’-hot sex. Who better to read the candidate in that department than Keith, my friend and lover on and off for many years. The great part is that I know he would relish finding me a husband–he has said that he might be the best sex of my life, but I am a lot to handle for one man (tall girls, the weather really is better up here). What would he look for? I can imagine him studying the eye contact this man made with each woman in the room. How did he sit? What did he do with his hands? Did his voice have enough bass in it to set firecrackers to my skin when he whispered in my ear? Keith would definitely know. He might be unfairly harsh on those who suffer with pencil thin lips, but other than that, I’d expect fairness.
Anyone who made it this far is probably pretty close to miraculous, but I’d still want to hear from my Mom–she’d know if he loved me anywhere near as much as she did. I’d want to hear from GypsyJack and Dee–I’ve never seen two people so committed to both honoring themselves and supporting their partner at the same time. It’s hard work that they make look easy…I think they’d have a sense of whether or not we could do it. I’d want Greg and Michelle to tell me their thoughts. Though I haven’t been in regular contact with them for years, they knew me in all my awkward, teenage glory. That girl who struggles between hyper excited and ultra contracted is still very much with me in moments. They’d know if he’d be good to her. I’d trust my cousin, pseudo cousin, and Oma, Allison, Sonja, and Mina, to know if he loved or feared fierce and powerful women. I’d ask Josh and John if he had enough substance to be leaned on. Could I fall apart on him and trust him to hold the ground for a while?
There may be others that escape me at this late hour, but that would be my dream team. Of course, this human doesn’t probably exist, but I’d be pretty happy with a two-thirds majority decision.