Page 6 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Of course it can. That’s the entire point of data analysis. Anyway, would you really want me to marry some backwater Irish farmer and end up covered in mud and living halfway across the planet? You’d hate that.”

“Would we? We could finally make your room into that sex dungeon we’ve been talking about, couldn’t we, Morty?”

“Just imagine the orgies! Your knitting club would love it.”

“They could bring potluck.”

“You guys. Are not funny. How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“We’re pretty funny.”

“Mom!”

“Fine. We heard you. Statistically improbable. Now, don’t forget to stand up straight, honey.” Mom put a hand on each shoulder and pulled them back as if my spine were a three-ring binder. “And let the men pay sometimes. Makes them feel important.”

“Are you hearing me? Because it kinda sounds like I’m being willfully ignored.”

Dad looked past me and down at Mom. “I don’t know, Dot. When you pick up the check, it always gets my engine going.” A little giggle bubbled from Mom.

“Ew. God. Stop it, you two! No wonder I’m so screwed up.”

“Oh, you did that all on your own, muffin. Okay, let’s hurry this up, because we’ve got the Applebaums coming over for canasta tonight.”

AN HOUR LATER I was sandwiched in the middle seat, listening to two complete strangers chew their pretzel mix while I scanned the movies on the little screen in front of me. I didn’t mind flights, even long ones. I liked to have all those hours to just sit quietly and read and watch movies while people in uniforms brought everyone tiny portions of food frequently enough to keep us from complaining. Though I could have done without the chewing in stereo and the accidental armrest elbow touching.

A Fate Inked in Blood was open and neglected on my lap. I had tried to read, but I couldn’t focus. Usually books were my safe haven, my coping mechanism. But I realized, with a little sinking feeling, that this time I was too distracted to be swept away to Skaland and get railed by a Viking.

I had been planning this trip for months and had even had a crackly telephone call with Jackie Kelly, the matchmaker, who apparently didn’t have Wi-Fi. “The only time I Zoom is when my pony gets a fright,” he’d said, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

I wasn’t nervous about getting matched with random men, and I had decided that I was even okay with living with a complete stranger for a week while he assessed my dateability. I had spent the last year having strangers set me up on dates with other strangers, and while it had definitely been nuts, it had also been fun, for the most part. But when Jackie had suggested I fly to Ireland early so that I didn’t miss the Matchmaking Festival, it had made my stomach turn over like an old carburetor. I was entirely comfortable with public humiliation. Strangely, I rather enjoyed having Simone pick me apart on-air for all the world to hear—I had rhino-thick skin, and if the people at home laughed half as much as we did in the studio, then it was a good day! But crowds. Crowds were a different thing.

People. Meeting new people always held the potential to go wrong. Despite a lifetime of rigorous study and experimentation, people were sort of a mystery to me. Unpredictable, unreachable, unfathomable. Like, why did some of them choose not to wear deodorant when they knew good and well what was going to happen? Or why did people post pictures of their lunch on Facebook? I would never understand them!

But . . . it was just too good an opportunity for the podcast for me to turn down. I had tried to convince myself that no one would want to listen to me going to a matchmaking festival, but I was a terrible liar. It was going to be podcast gold, and I knew it. I just needed to reframe the situation in my mind, change my lens, and handle my peopling with protocol firmly in place.

Protocol for the Matchmaking Festival:

Objective: To conduct informal ethnographic observation of sociocultural courtship behaviors displayed during the Matchmaking Festival without freaking out or acting like a weirdo.

1. Refrain from conceptualizing the festival as one hellish mega-date. Instead, adopt the stance of a participant-observer immersed within the social milieu, collecting data in situ.

2. Remember that the crowd is a good thing, as it provides both concealment and a degree of social anonymity.

3. Utilize Loop earplugs to moderate ambient noise exposure. Should crazy-ass shenanigans become excessive, you have every right to get the hell out of there.

4. Wear clothes that will not make you angry. Never forget that one time when wearing an underwire bra made you yell at a stranger.

5. In the event of unwanted tactile interaction, articulate boundaries clearly and disengage. Note: Insults may be deployed at will.

6. Should an individual issue a marriage proposal, do not run. Acknowledge their interest, decline courteously, and politely explain that you have cats.

“Gingersnap?”

“Huh?”

“Would you like a biscuit, dear?” The lady with the aisle seat next to me shook a large, store-bought package of cookies at me. She reminded me of my aunt Selma.

“Oh! That’s nice. Um, sure. Yes, please.”