Amy sighed as she scanned the crowded ballroom at the Sheraton. God, she hated these singles mixers sponsored by the local synagogues. She thought, “Why does a smart, pretty, professional woman subject herself to this ordeal?”
The energy in the room was driven by desperate men and women who circulated with their mothers’ voices ringing in their brains, egging them on to find some nice Jewish boy or girl.
Amy was chumming with Margo and Helen. Her girlfriends, not Jewish, were indifferent to religious preferences and didn’t mind trying to land a good catch at an event billed for Jewish singles.
They’d come to the dance together, then split up to troll different parts of the room. So far, Amy had hooked an internist (“A doctor, that’s good!” says Mom), an Israeli (“Oy, they’re so aggressive”), and a paralegal with a cute smile (“What, not a lawyer?”).
Midway through the event, they compared their progress. Margo had met an environmental scientist and a writer who worked for a trade association, while Helen had a securities broker and a computer programmer on the line. They all agreed that none of these guys were terribly compelling, but they were there to meet men, so they bravely plunged back into the crowd, hoping to find Mr. Right.
Lord, Amy hated these meat markets. Well, if the evening’s catch turned out to be a blue plate special of Other Fish in the Sea, at least she knew they were all cutthroats.