For Chana, the Festival of Lights had begun in personal disaster. She had just lit her first candle when her phone rang. It was Martin, the East Coast "catch." Like her, Martin was modern Orthodox -- observant, but game for a good movie. Last week had marked their second date. It was a shidduch, a brokered date. Martin had used a matchmaker to find Chana. Now he was using a cell phone to lose her.
Another wedding, where I'm an FOB -- Friend of the Bride -- and not the groom.
"Well?" prompts my wife, gliding down the stairs in a black satin evening dress. I give her the elevator eye,
approving until my line of sight crosses her ankles to find ... Payless flats.
No bachelor was more adroit at saying "No, thanks" when told, "Have I got a girl for you."