Unbroken Glass

Some tastes stay with you forever.
Cuban cigars, fine old wine and… Swiss chocolate.

Everyone likes Swiss chocolate.
So when my shadchan phoned me up and suggested a Swiss guy, I said okay because a) I was fascinated and b) I figured he might have some chocolate.
So this guy called me up and we decided to meet.
But how will I recognise you? he asked me.
I told him I’ll hold a white rose and he can carry a copy of the Daily News.
We had a good laugh about that and made fun of English spy movies for a few minutes.
But then again, when I went to meet him, he was in fact holding a white rose.
Hmmm, I thought.
Does this point to an ironic sense of humour or just an extremely corny guy?
I hoped the former, for he was quite good-looking and, of course, Swiss.

As per usual, we found a coffee-shop and sat down.
We started talking.
We started arguing.
About everything.
It’s difficult to explain, but every single topic that came up, we started fighting about. He was stubborn, and I am pretty opinionated, and that is the nicest way I can think of to put it.
We sat there for about six hours, yelling at each other. I couldnt leave because I didnt want him to have the upper hand.
I guess he felt the same way, because I dont think either of us were enjoying ourselves.
Everything he said made me want to voice my own opinions very definitely to him in the loudest way possible, and everything I said ignited him and set him off for hours.
At some point (close to the four-hour mark) I gave up even the pretense of being polite and just let loose.
We swore at each other, cursed each other’s families, and really went on a rampage…

His being Swiss, he knew a couple of languages besides for English and Hebrew. So when his cousin passed and the breadroll aimed at me almost hit her shoulder, he stopped everything and suddenly started speaking to her in German.
Now German is a very polite language, and the contrast between heavy Israeli curses and cute little German conversation is horrific.
I sat there, completely disoriented, while he said some stuff to her in this horrible-sounding language, about what I dont even know.
He could have been describing to her in detail how he wanted to choke me right there and then, and I wouldnt have known the difference.

She left and he picked up pretty much where he had left off… Luckily the time I had while he spoke to his cousin was used very wisely and I was armed with at least a hundred new insults and arguments to throw at him.
By the end of it I was exhausted.
It was time to go so I very succinctly said my goodbyes and left.
I got out of the restaurant and came to my flat, kicked around a couple of my flatmates and then decided to call my mother and go home.
I told her very briefly that I was extremely angry, that I wanted beer when I got there, and that I hoped she had taped the last ten Seinfeld episodes because that was how I envisaged the next eight to ten hours.
I went home, spent the evening as planned, and finally passed out from irritation.

The next morning my mother printed a sweatshirt for me. It said: My Next Shidduch Will Be Normal.
I still wear it.

The guy called me later that day. Just hearing his voice made me want to hurl my mom’s vase at the wall.
He asked me if I wanted to meet again. I said NO, that I didnt think we went too well together.
When the shadchan called him later on, he told her that if we didnt want World War III on our hands it would be best if we didnt meet again.
Ever.

Even though I agreed wholeheartedly it still irritated me.
And technically, just for the record, I broke up with HIM. Not the other way around.
The nerve of him.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 30th, 2002 at 5:00 pm and is filed under Favourites, She. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.