Confessions to come.

Let’s face it. I am 22, good-looking and single on my official papers. Hence, it became my mother’s weekly habit to insinuate the presence of prospect grooms who talk to her personally or to members of our bigger Orthodox family about “tying the knot”. The first time this happened – which was right right after my graduation, I have sunk into a great state of bewilderment and relative depression. I had to talk my grandmother and my aunt (whom I considered my favorite person among this very big fat family) out of it. Using many conversational tools I have acquired, including seriousness, anger, sarcasm and light humor to indicate that this topic is out of question. Notice that I never had to talk my mother out of it, because this lady has known me well enough to fear approaching me on such topics. Instead, she asks other ladies of the family to talk to me about it.

I have gained a great deal of immunity though, which has always been the case with my family matters that force a psychological war. Thus, every time my mother re-opens the subject, I nod without attention, fall silent watching TV waiting for her to finish speaking about this week’s groom, maybe say a sentence or two along the lines of “Elly feeh el kheir, ye3meloh rabena”. However, today was a little bit different.

She started the conversation the way she always does… “A male friend of mine…” I also interrupted the way I usually do, without glancing at her “ya mama er7ameeny, 3arees tany?” And she spat out the usual… “ya benty sebeeny akamel”… And I helplessly gave in, to the TV’s remote-control of course. Today, the keyword “forty-five” caused me to pause my aimless switching through the channels, to squirm on the sofa in order to force my body to face her and attentively listen. She concluded “…I was really shocked and I just told him, I am sure you’ll meet the right woman”. I asked if he was really forty five. She nodded. My second question was… “Do you mean he has salt and pepper hair?” She nodded again. I spat out; “Shit, that’s hot”. My mother looked at me that confused look of hers… the one I know very well.