Since my last post, I’ve consumed one and a half martinis, three chocolate rum balls, two glasses of champagne, another two glasses of sangria and at least eight cups of coffee. Fortunately New Years Eve festivities span a full 48 hours here in Philadelphia so I managed to pace myself. Nonetheless, I was extremely grateful for the fact that New Years Day fell on a Saturday this year. This way, I had an entire extra day in which to drink more coffee, consume more chocolates and prepare for my first date of 2011 before returning to my real job.
But something rather unexpected happened at the annual Richter Family New Year’s Eve Martini Bar Soiree—something of the romantic variety. And before we get any further with the latest developments in my eHarmony online dating experiment, I feel that I simply must explain.
Having grown up on a steady diet of Jane Austen, I’ve spent the past decade or so waiting for a Darcy-like fixture to move in around the corner. It hasn’t happened (which is why I’ve resorted to online dating) but this hasn’t stopped me from hoping that some year someone is going to bring an eligible brother/son/cousin/nephew/ex-husband to one of my parents’ holiday parties. This is why I go to such great lengths to contribute impressive desserts to my mother’s holiday party menus; in the event that I’m ever introduced to an eligible brother/son/cousin/nephew/ex-husband, I want to be sure that he’ll recognize my limited but nonetheless aesthetically pleasing culinary talents.
You would think that after 25 years of disappointment, I’d have given up on the thought of two perfect strangers connecting over a plate of artfully-arranged crudités in the Richter family living room. You would think that I wouldn’t even bother to get all totted up in a new strapless dress and a corresponding pair of truly tortuous high heels. You would think I’d be content to just drink martinis and dance on the roof deck with my college roommates (at least those of which who haven’t had the nerve to get married and move across the country). But hope springs eternal, and even though I had no intention of seeing either of my Potential Soul Mates on New Year’s, there was indeed a meeting of two perfect strangers, a kiss at midnight, and several instances of bone fide hand-holding the next day.
Unfortunately, I was not involved.
But I did witness the events in question, and I like to think that I was involved in an ancillary, Fairy-God-Mother sort of way.
These two strangers, you see, were strangers to each other but not to me. Both are family friends and devoted members of my so-called public, by which I mean they subscribe to my blog and bonded, (one must presume) over both crudités and my witty observations of being single and 20-something.
I didn’t witness their introduction but I expect it went something like this:
Him: So, I couldn’t help but notice that you appear to be here on your own tonight, which is rather coincidental seeing as I am as well. Would you care to engage in meaningless small talk while we admire these here artfully-arranged desserts?
Her: Why, yes. Indeed.
Him: Excellent. So then, what do you like to do in your spare time?
Her: Well, I subscribe to this crazy blog in which this girl spent three months serial dating men on Match.com, then she got involved with this guy she met at Marshalls, then she met this other guy she really liked online, but there was all this drama with him so now she’s on—
Him: She’s on eHarmony! I know! I read her blog too!
She: Really? OMG! That’s AMAZING! Can I offer you some crudités?
And the rest, as they say, is history. (Or not. I’m not quite sure but I’ve enlisted the help of several spies to keep me posted on post-party developments.)
The moral of this story is that you should probably subscribe to my blog because as you can see, good things happen to people who subscribe to my blog. The other moral of this story is that it is indeed possible to meet someone at my parents’ holiday party— just not for me, which is why I’m off to meet PSM#2 for our second date and this time I intend to kiss him.