passion...schmassion

day 10729: dear grandmother

My dearest grandmother,

You do realize that it’s only been a few weeks (i.e. 2 ½ weeks, but who’s counting) that I’ve been single. I don’t know how you knew before I told you, but you knew nonetheless…even though, of course, you pretended not to. Apparently, the family grapevine is alive and kicking. I’m just not supposed to know about it.

Within days, you, with your AGING, SINGLE, PROFESSIONAL, ASIAN grandchild, have already reached out to your little network of equally desperate grandparents all of whom are dying to set up their own AGING, SINGLE, PROFESSIONAL, ASIAN grandchildren. (notice a trend here?) You’ve got everyone all riled up. The aunties and the uncles are on the hunt, rifling through their rolodexes (ok, Palm Pilots), making phone call after phone call, inquiring about the status of Son #1, or Son #2.

How’s Son#1? He broke up with his white girlfriend? Oh, how sad… she was a tramp anyway. WHAT? He’s looking to get married to an ASIAN girl now? His optometrist brother is SINGLE TOO? That’s FANTASTIC… *buzz buzz buzz*

And then I get the phone call.

Would I be open to a casual meet and greet? Dim sum on Sunday? No pressure, I can meet him as a friend... WHAT? He’s got a brother too? What the hell? HELL NO I WON’T GO! Let me live. Let me find myself. Let me enjoy my singledom for a while before I have to start worrying about whether NewBoy would be willing to sleep in the same bed as my dog. You’ve already arranged it? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! You can’t do this to me!!! Cancel. Cancel. Cancel.

I, honestly, don’t know how you do it… and so fast, too. You must have broken a speed record. Or maybe you have their numbers programmed into your phone. Just in case things didn’t work out with Bacon. I’ve got a sneaky little suspicion that you started the process even BEFORE Bacon and I split. That’s a little evil.

Yes, grandmother, I know “companionship” is really important. I love “companionship.” Yes, I’m missing it, and no, I’m not getting any younger. Please, let’s call it what it really is. Sex. I realize that you care very deeply for me, and you just want to see me happy (and having sex). I know you want to find me a nice boy to take care of me. But I can take care of myself, grandmother. I do it quite well and live rather nicely, if I do say so myself. I make a lot of money for doing the little work that I do. I support myself… even though my condo is the size of a shoebox and I live paycheque to paycheque. Ok, so I'm not having any sex, but who said I could have my cake and eat it too.

Grandmother, I’m begging you. Please let me enjoy it for a little while at least before you put in the SOS to every single asian family in this city with an unattached son who is a doctor, dentist, pharmacist or engineer. I love you lots, but look what happened last time you set me up.

He was shorter than me.

He stalked me.

Need I say more?

Ps. What I really want to know… remember that boy who drove us to the airport after the wedding in New Jersey last summer? How the heck did you think that I gave him my number (i.e. having only been broken up with Triscuit for two weeks)? (It was Sista, btw, not me) And how the heck did you arrange for HIS PARENTS to come up from NEW JERSEY this past weekend and for me to BE THERE when they WALKED IN THE DOOR. That was really sneaky. You’re good, grandmother, really good. I respect that.