Posted by Ilana Angel
For those of us who are searching for our beshert, we pray that every first date will be our last. Being set up, dating online, or hitting the bars are all horrible, but not as bad as going to a singles event.
The first of The Jewish Journal’s singles events is something new and different. We are going to get honest, get real, and get our kvetch on.
If you are single and living in Los Angeles, I hope you will join us for drinks, nosh and a frank look at dating in LA. One of my favorite singles bloggers, Elliot Steingart, who writes “Some Reservations”, and myself are going to share our dating horror stories over cocktails. If you think I’m open and frank in my blogs, wait till you hear me tell the stories after a drink or two.
Bring your stories too, because after a cocktail you might want to share, and we hope you do. Sometimes venting about how bad dating can be is enough to cleanse a bitter and jaded dater so they have the strength to give it another shot. If not, then just have another shot and enjoy a night out.
No story shall be sugarcoated and if we’re lucky, one of the losers I’ve been out with will actually have the courage to show his face and we can get his side of the story. Maybe the man who threw up on my shoes can come and have a drink. Or maybe the man who dated me for a month while living with his girlfriend can bring her to say hello. Perhaps the man who thought it would be cool to post a picture of his son as his actual profile picture, would like to bring his son. I’ve got a million of them folks.
My wonderful friend Danielle Berrin, who is the brilliant “Hollywood Jew” writer, will moderate a discussion on dating, rules, sex, faith, hope and horror as we discuss why it’s just so hard. In an attempt to not be completely bitter, Seth Menachem of “My Single Peeps” will be on hand to do a little matchmaking.
If you are gay, straight, young, old, man or woman, you are welcome to join us. We are united in our dating frustration and a bad date does not discriminate. I never thought the day would come when I would be at a singles event on a Saturday night, but here I am. Not only am I going, but I’m looking forward to it. You just never know who you might meet. Stop thinking about buying a ticket and just do it.
Part cocktail party, part horror movie, and part therapy session, this will be funnest singles event you have ever been too. Or least not as bad as a loser date on a Saturday night. I hope to see you on Saturday, February 11th. With any luck I will meet someone great! Or perhaps I will just get sloshed enough to think all the men look like George Clooney. That’s a win-win night so I’m looking forward to it and keeping the faith.
For tickets visit: JEWISH JOURNAL SINGLES EVENT
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January 24, 2012 | 2:47 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
I had a date over the weekend with a guy we’ll call “Dick”. He wrote to me online, and after a couple of email exchanges we spoke on the phone and made a plan to meet for a drink. He seemed like a nice enough man and I was looking forward to meeting him. Not really my type physically, but since my type is changing, I thought it was worth a shot.
My “type” has typically been tall, bald, tattooed Jews, who have spent time in prison. You may think those men are hard to find but let me assure you, not so hard. At one point there were three convicted felons on JDate and I managed to not only find them, but date them. As I get older, and perhaps wiser, what I find attractive has changed.
I like smart men, and think Jewish knowledge is sexy. Where I have typically dated men much taller than me, a man could be 5 feet tall, and with the ability to quote Torah, becomes a giant. If he is also a good kisser, loves kids, and gently lays his hand on my lower back when guiding me through a doorway, I might actually fall in love with him.
Getting back to my date, we met for a drink and he was quite nice. Good looking, on the short side, but funny and highly educated with both finance and law degrees. The thing is, we really didn’t have anything to talk about. He was not into television, movies, or cooking. He had never been to Israel, and had no relationship with his grown children.
None of this was mentioned in his profile of course, so live and learn. He was harmless, it was nice, and while not a success, a step closer to finding my beshert. I thanked him for a lovely time and went on my way with a nice hug and peck on the cheek. Cut to the next day when he called to tell me he had a great time and was anxious to go out again.
Really? We had absolutely nothing to talk about, and it’s only because I am charming as hell, quite funny, and insanely articulate, that we did not sit for 90 minutes saying nothing. This date was not a keeper, yet he thought it was great and wanted to do it again? Perhaps if he quoted the bible in asking me out, but since he didn’t, there was no way.
I told him that while I thought he was lovely, there was no romantic connection for me and I was not interested in going out again. He responded by telling me you don’t always feel a spark after one date and I needed to not be a bitch and go out with him again. Seriously? Calling me a bitch is going to get you blogged about, not a second date. Dick.
Just because someone does not find you attractive does not mean she is a bitch. It just means she is not attracted to you. You could look like George Clooney but if you have nothing to talk about then what good are you? Well, you could be a lot of good if you looked like Clooney so that was a bad example, but my point is being attracted to someone matters.
It does not make me a bitch that I was bored on our date. I am in fact a little bit of a bitch, but certainly was not on the date or the follow up phone call. I was nice and sweet and calling me a bitch is lame and ridiculous Dick. In the end you are not nice, and frankly a schmuck. We are not going out again. Even quotes from the bible can’t help you now.
I am starting to think there may not be a Jewish man in LA who can quote Torah, kiss well, loves kids, and understands how sexy it is to guide me through a doorway. Since Clooney does not know Torah, I must have hope that one day I might get lucky and come across a man who will make my heart flutter, so I am keeping the faith.
January 23, 2012 | 9:13 am
Posted by Ilana Angel
This past weekend marked the 3rd anniversary of my son’s Bar Mitzvah. In honor of the day, he was asked to read Torah at Temple. He accepted the invitation and for the past week I have been listening to him practice which has been lovely. It made me wonder, is my Jewish life enough?
When we went to shul on Saturday, I settled into my seat and watched as my son walked around the sanctuary and greeted his friends. When I saw him wearing his tallit and embracing his friends, I was overcome with emotion as I watched my son living his Jewish life.
My son is Jewish by birth, but also Jewish by choice. He has never been made to go to temple, but rather chooses it. I am in awe of myself when I think back to how I put him through 10 years of a private Jewish Day School education with no financial assistance from his dad.
My child’s education is a great accomplishment, and that he has found a level of Judaism that works for him, fills my heart with joy. That I was able to provide this for him is something that I still marvel at. This weekend was a reminder of how important faith is for our children.
I was in services for over two hours and my child knew every song and every prayer. I was so proud of him. While not surprising, yet mortifying to my son, I started crying. It was a profound moment in that it was as if God was telling me that I did a good job with the child in my care.
I am his mother, but he has been placed in my care. It is my responsibility to raise a decent human being who will make the world better, and this weekend I was given a front row seat that I am doing just that. He is a remarkable boy and the best part of my Jewish life.
I sometimes wonder if I am Jewish enough. Should I be more observant? Perhaps be Kosher? At the end of the day my faith is measured by my child. He is Jewish enough. He is following our faith, at his own pace, with pride and a thirst for knowledge. That is enough.
I have provided faith to my son in a way that he has embraced it. That was always my goal. I wanted him to be aware of our religion, the history of our people, and the desire to pass it along to his own family. I have done that and so I don’t need to worry about the choices he will make.
As we left services I asked my son if he wanted a new tallit. He told me he wanted to keep the one he got at his Bar Mitzvah until he passed it along to his son at his Bar Mitzvah. It was a lovely thing for him to say, and I cannot wait for that day. It will be a glorious day indeed.
If my son decides to become a Rabbi, or never go to shul again, my Jewish life will be the same. I have taught him my beliefs, provided him with an education steeped in knowledge and tradition. Who I am as a Jew, is separate from who he is. We can observe differently.
I read Torah every day, but my son does not. My son knows all the prayers and songs off by heart, but I do not. One is not a better Jew than the other. We are simply Jewish, living Jewish lives, and are blessed to be able to worship both together, apart, and differently.
My son is well on his way to becoming a man. He is truly a mensch. This weekend I was given an opportunity to see his Jewish life, and in doing so, was able to reconnect to my own Jewish life. What a blessing is it to see the child I love so much, keeping the faith.
January 18, 2012 | 12:43 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
My son is turning 16 this week. He is a remarkable human being and I am blessed and honored to be his mother. To mark this most special of occasions, I want to share 16 things that I think he should know.
1. Driving is a privilege and you must respect the power of being behind the wheel of a car. When I freak out that you are driving by yourself, it is not because I do not trust you, but because I don’t trust everyone else. Buckle up, put your phone away, look out for the other guy, don’t drive too fast, and remember to always call me when you get there.
2. Be proud of our faith. Embrace what you have been taught and be the best Jew you can be. Never stop learning the history of our people, and build a relationship with God. Pass down what you have learned to your own children, and make sure they too are close to God. Find a level of religion thai is comfortable for you, and know that faith can carry you through.
3. Always respect women. Open a door, walk on the street side of a sidewalk, remember important dates, bring flowers for no reason, say sorry and mean it, communicate in a loving way, and remember the power of silence. Just because she does not say something, does not mean she doesn’t have something to say.
4. Hampers were invented with men in mind. Pick up your dirty clothes off the floor and put them in the hamper. Don’t leave clean clothes on the floor as they will end up in the hamper, which is not where clean clothes go.
5. It is not your job to take care of me. You are my child and it is my greatest joy to take care of you. You don’t need to worry about me. Enjoy your childhood, and be with your friends. Know I am fine, and right here if you need me.
6. Be brave. When making choices for your future, and your happiness, be brave.
7. When someone says come here, and by someone of course I mean your mother, just come. Now. By trying the, “in a second” method, or the popular, “I didn’t hear you” approach, all you are doing is making whatever she wanted to yell at you about worse. Just come quickly and get it over with. This information also applies when dealing with a girlfriend or wife.
8. Sex is a beautiful thing and can only fully be appreciated and enjoyed when in your twenties. Just kidding. Teenage parenthood is not an option. I’m not kidding.
9. You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make happy, when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.
10. Drugs are bad.
11. Reality television is like drugs.
12. Go to bed every single day for the rest of your life knowing that I could not love you more. Wake up every single day of the rest of your life knowing that I love you just a little bit more than the day before.
13. Find your political voice. Listen to candidates, and always vote for what is right for you and the country, not what your party tells you is right. Your vote matters so don’t ever become a Republican.
14. Remember what 16 feels like. This is a great time in your life and you will not understand it until you are older. Take time to let it all sink in because this moment will pass quickly. Photograph it in your mind so you can look back when you are old and have it be something worth remembering.
15. Find love. Find it with a Jew.
16. As a child of divorce, know that you were born into a marriage filled with love.
To my wonderful son, Happy Birthday. I have loved you for my entire life and the last 16 years have filled my heart with happiness and peace. I wish for you all of the things you wish for yourself. My greatest joy is watching you follow your heart, pursue your passions, and become a man I am both proud of, and in awe of.
I love you.
Keep the faith.
January 17, 2012 | 1:39 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
This weekend I went shopping with my son. He is going to a winter formal and needed a new outfit so we headed out to Santa Monica to spend the day shopping, walking around, and having lunch. It was a beautiful day, there were a ton of people out and about, and we had a wonderful time.
I am blessed that my teenager enjoys spending time with me, and there is no massive separation happening. I don’t see him as often as I used to as he is usually with his friends, but we spend time together and it matters. He is my favorite person and our hanging out is special to us both.
By special to us both, of course I mean it is special to me. Truth be told he thinks I’m silly for loving him so much, and gets a kick out of the pure joy I get in being with him, more than he thinks it’s special. That said, I’m going to continue to tell myself he thinks it’s special too.
I will be turning 46 this year and I must tell you I don’t get how I got to this age so fast. My son keeps me young and I don’t feel that much different today from how I felt when I became a mother at age 30. I live my life without the burden of age. I am in my forties and fabulous.
This weekend however, it became painfully clear that I have in fact gotten old. Things that never would have bothered me in the past, suddenly become “situations”. I use this word because when I am faced with these moments of getting old, my son announces that we have a “situation”.
Our first situation happened while shopping. Why is it that stores need to have the music playing so loud? Each and every store we went into was blaring music so loud you could not have a conversation. My son wanted to try on pants and I had to ask the clerk 4 times for his size.
The store employee could not hear me because the music was so loud. Of course my son did not think it was loud and even sang along to the screeching of a song I had never even heard before. I found myself screaming a conversation with my child.
When we went to the register, I told the cashier the music was just too loud and made shopping difficult. She gave me a look that said, “I’m really sorry you are so old lady, but the music is not loud.” She gave me this look right after she laughed at me for a minute.
Situation number two came at lunch. We decided to try a rustic pizza place in Santa Monica Place, settled into a great table outside, and ordered pizza and salad. I don’t remember exactly what kind of pizza it was, but it was something fancy, not your basic plain cheese variety.
When it arrived, it was swimming in oil. Just looking at it caused arteries to clog and I could not eat it. I called over the waiter and told him it was too oily. He assured me it was delicious and I should just try it. He then looked at my son and shot him a “your Mom is really old” look.
I ignored his look and lifted up a piece of the pizza. The oil that was dripping off of just one piece was enough to fill a soup bowl. He then gave me a slight tilt of the head partnered with a condescending look of, “maybe I should just get you some cottage cheese and prune juice”.
Does finding things loud and oily make me old? I can’t stand loud music in a store, yet my television is always loud because I can’t hear it. I also find myself ordering lunch with a side of cottage cheese instead of fries. How did that happen? When did it happen? Where is my young self?
I experienced two situations that were subtle reminders I am getting older. I can accept that I am now closer to old than young. I can even accept that cottage cheese is officially a side dish. I cannot accept however that blaring music is acceptable when shopping. Turn it down people!
I had a great time with my son this weekend. He is a pleasure to be with and I will get earplugs if that’s what it takes to spend time with him. He keeps me young at heart and as long as people continue to think I am his Mom and not his Grandma, I will stay young, and keep the faith.
January 16, 2012 | 8:33 am
Posted by Ilana Angel
“I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.
But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity.
One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation.
So we have come to cash this check—a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.
Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God’s children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning.
Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.
We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor’s lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.
With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”
Remember. Learn. Keep the faith.
January 13, 2012 | 8:30 am
Posted by Ilana Angel
Yesterday as I was walking along Ventura Boulevard to my bank, I saw a homeless man camped out on the sidewalk. He had a cup sitting in front of him, but he appeared to be sleeping. As I approached I put a dollar in the cup and continued onto the bank.
When I was walking back up the street to my car, I passed the sleeping homeless man and heard him say, “Thanks for the dollar. Cute ass.” It scared me for a minute because I thought he was sleeping, but I turned around and said, “Excuse me?”
He stood up, told me he appreciated the dollar, and that he meant no disrespect, but he just thought I had a nice bum. Now, I understand that he was a little scary looking, and engaging with such a man is not always smart, but I was now intrigued.
He looked to be in his forties but I would guess if he was cleaned up we’d discover he was much younger. He was about 5’10, quite thin, very long hair, dark brown eyes, and in desperate need of a shower, shave, barber, new shoes and clean clothes.
He then flashed me a smile that quite frankly took my breath away. This rather disgusting looking man had the teeth of an Osmond. Perfectly straight, bright white teeth that could be in toothpaste commercial. They were really beautiful teeth.
These were not the teeth of a homeless person. These were movie star teeth and I will tell you that his smile suddenly made him less scary looking, I took a moment to really study his face incase it was Donny Osmond doing research for a Lifetime movie.
Seriously, this could have been Donny. Maybe he was going to play Jesus and this was an experiment on the kindness of strangers. I live in Los Angeles after all so this could totally have been what was going on. I admit it, I looked around for hidden cameras.
Important to note that I am quite certain Donny Osmond would not tell a stranger she has a nice bum, and I mean no disrespect to my beloved Donny. It would have been his character saying it, not actually him. Just so we’re clear.
My phone rang then so I snapped out of my Hollywood delusion and was standing face to face with a stranger. I wanted to ask him who he was, how he got there, and why his teeth were perfect, but in the end it was his compliment that mattered.
He made my day. He was a guy who was brave enough to tell a stranger she had a nice bum, and I appreciated it. I took $5.00 out of my wallet and told him to get some lunch. I then told him not to check out my bum when I turned around and walked away.
When I got to my car I turned to look and there he was, staring at me, giving me a thumbs up, and flashing his killer smile. I got in my car and as I drove away I wondered what act of kindness mattered more. The money, or the compliment?
It only takes a minute to help somebody. He needed a couple of dollars and I needed a kind word. Some may not think being told you have a cute bum is a kind word, but when your dating life is worse than eating shards of glass, a man thinking your bum is cute matters.
It is important that we are kind to one another. This weekend give a dollar to someone who needs it. Kindness matters. I don’t know if this man was an Osmond, or Jesus, or a crazy person. What I do know is that he made my day, and I woke up this morning keeping the faith.
January 10, 2012 | 11:43 pm
Posted by Ilana Angel
I had lunch today with a new friend. It’s rather interesting that we are friends actually because before I even met her, I was certain I would not like her. She is young, beautiful, talented, Jewish, and while almost 20 years younger than me, in the same dating pool. Of course I was not going to like her.
We knew of each other as we know a lot of people in common, and met at a holiday party in December. I instantly liked her. She was painfully unaware of how beautiful she was, which is both fascinating and charming. It actually makes her even prettier. If I looked like her I would walk around naked and stare at myself all day long.
We had a nice time together and when we came across each other at yet another holiday celebration, we made a plan to get together. We spent a couple of hours today at lunch and I found myself feeling emotion for this girl. We are years apart in age but I felt a kinship and connection to her that was sincere.
She is closer in age to my child than to me, and truth be told I could be her mother, but we connected as women and it was lovely. We found ourselves sharing stories and secrets with each other in a way that was peaceful and funny. There was no fear or judgment, but for some reason an honest concern from both sides.
It turns out that I had imagined she would be my enemy and in the end she was my friend. I say enemy in terms of her being competition. I happen to think I am fabulous but if I were a 50 year old man and could go out with her or me, I’m not sure my fabulousness would be able to outshine her because while beautiful, she is also fabulous.
Women spend a lot of time hating on each other and being driven by jealously and hate. It’s a shame really because we are the same. In talking about relationships and heartache, listening to her stories was familiar. You could change her name for mine and the story would be the same. A woman’s broken heart is universal.
We hurt the same, regret the same, dream the same, and mourn the same. It might not be at the same level, but it’s there. As women we have an understanding of each other’s depth of pain so talking about hurt feels liberating because we all get it. I was so sure she would be the enemy and in the end she will be my dear friend.
Instead of worrying that we date the same men, I will instead wish my friend well on her search for love. She is exactly the kind of girl I hope my son marries one day. You all know how I feel about him so you can imagine how great she is. I look forward to our next lunch. As for my son meeting someone just like her? I’m keeping the faith.