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It’s definitely a good thing to have friends who look out for you, and have the best intentions, however, occasionally it can be a bit of a nuisance. Let’s just put it this way: I had been single for quite some time, and my friends didn’t think that was right. One friend in particular took it upon herself to set me up with guys she thought would be wonderful matches for me. She had just quit her almost full time job, and I think she was feeling a bit restless.

I had never considered myself a blind date person, but I hadn’t been on a date for so long that I felt perhaps it was necessary to accept her proposals at this point. Blind dates are a funny thing; when you first start going on them, you enter with a blind optimism, thinking, “Wow. This could be the one. This guy could be the perfect one.” And once you’ve gone on two or three terrifically unsuccessful and awkward blind dates, you begin to see them as nothing more than a ticket for a free meal and some drinks.

My first blind date, organized by my well-intentioned but seriously misguided friend, I entered into with that very deceptive sense of security and hope that this guy would be my Prince Charming. I made sure to dress up and spiffily as I knew how, doused myself in my most pleasant perfume, and headed out the door. When I arrived at the restaurant, my date had not yet arrived. About a half an hour passed until a rather tall, thin young man came up to me and introduced himself as my date for the evening. He seemed in a rush, but didn’t apologize for being late. I asked him if he had trouble getting here, to wish he responded rather curtly, “No. Why?” and proceeded to dig into the bread basket. The dinner was an agonizing hour of silence punctuating by an occasional yet futile attempt at conversation. That was our first and last date.

I went on several more friend-arranged blind dates, until I had had quite enough. On a particular date, I was not in a very good mood. I was sick and tired of these pity-motivated setups, and I wanted out. I dragged myself into the restaurant, not looking particularly fetching, and saw a rather glum looking young man seated on a bench by the hostess. I thought he may be the guy. I sauntered up to him, and inquired if he was indeed my date. He was. Surprisingly, he was quite attractive and seemed to be very charismatic, but he didn’t seem particularly elated to be there. Rather than being offended, I felt relieved. Finally, someone who had the same sentiments about blind dates as I did!

As the evening went on, we began talking about out mutual friend who had been the initial catalyst of this little get together. Eventually, we began to discuss how many blind dates we had been on. I was amused that he was in much the same position as I, and was fed up with the setups as much as I was. This was the point at which we began to have a genuine connection. We laughed at our blind-date weariness, and promptly forgot that we were actually on one.

I am happy to report that our relationship went on for quite a long time, and our true connection was a shared hatred of the blind date concept. So hey, instead of groaning about the fact that your friend set you up, just hope that the guy she set you up with is groaning about it too!

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