Cradle Robber, Part I: The Trap

"I would love to give your number to a family friend of ours," Sister Jones*, our Bishop's wife, told me one Sunday in March, as she stopped me on my way out of Church. "I think you two could really hit it off." I just laughed a "Oh silly Sister Jones" laugh and mumbled something indistinguishable, something along the lines of "mm-hmm" jumbled together with a deep throat-clearing. And then I high-tailed it out of Sacrament Meeting. I knew how dangerous it was to be on Sister Jones' radar. I had seen her time and time again sitting with the ward menu-er-directory during Sacrament Meeting and making notes next to names, sometimes even drawing lines between smiling faces. Yes, she has taken on the responsibility of marrying off a hopeless group of singles. And when you see her, run. I just wasn't quick enough. Luckily, I was dating someone at the time, and nothing came of my close and almost deadly encounter with the Matchmaker. Life continued as normal (well, as normal as my life gets).

Fast forward two months. I was single, yet again, and actually enjoying it a little too much. Sister Jones and her ward directory and all-too observant eye were MIA for a good while. I got comfortable. I felt safe. And I realize now that I played my hand a little too sloppily. Any good CIA officer knows that the first rule of strategy is to never assume you are safe. You play stupid. You get careless. And ultimately, someone always gets hurt - or at least put in unnecessarily awkward situations.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning and as a ward we made the short journey to the Timpanogos temple. It was my first time, and I was in awe of its beauty. It is a gorgeous building. Unfortunately, I was so wrapped up in wonder that I failed to notice who I was standing next to in the lobby. Yes, that's right. Sister Jones, in the flesh. "I really want to set you up with our family friend," she said again, a repeat of our dangerous run-in two months prior. "Oh really?" was all I could reply. This time I couldn't just run out the door. I had to face her. "Yes," she replied. "He served in Buenos Aires, his name is Tom Smith* and his mom is amazing. She would make a GREAT mother-in-law." Seriously? It was all I could do to swallow the sarcastic flem quickly forming at the base of my throat. Luckily, all I mustered was, "Well, gee whiz! Why even date? Let's just get hitched!" She hardly flinched. Nothing fazes the Matchmaker. Like a light in a dark, underground tunnel, the temple patron asked for my temple recommend and I was allowed to continue forward, leaving Sister Jones trailing behind. And yes, how utterly naive of me to think I had yet again escaped. Robert Lynd, an Anglo-Irish journalist, once said, "The belief in the possibility of a short decisive war appears to be one of the most ancient and dangerous of human illusions." And apparently, all is fair in love and war.

Following what soon proved to be merely a short respite of peace, I was exiting the locker room only to find myself face to face with Her, yet again. I stopped, bracing myself for the inevitable. "I'm going to give him your number," she said, as a statement of fact, not a question requesting permission. What could I say to that? Well, I know what I wanted to say - or better yet, scream. NO! I could feel the fight or flight instinct kick in and more than anything I wanted to "flight." To fight an old woman in the temple would have only drawn lightening bolts from the gods. After what seemed like a lifetime of inner turmoil and battle (when really it couldn't have been more than five seconds) I let out a sigh of defeat, and allowed my mouth to form those two fateful letters - OK. Her smile lit up bigger than an older brother who had just successfully manipulated his younger sibling into submission. She twirled around on her heels and over her shoulder said in a much-too-cheery voice, "Be expecting a phone call!"

And just like that I was alone, alone with a sense of dread...and a name - Tom. The week seemed so long, stretched before me, the future so bleak. I left the temple sulking. Eventually shaking out of my dark and defeated stupor, however, I looked up into the glittery, blue afternoon sky. Suddenly I saw hope written in a wispy cloud over head. What, I asked myself, is the worst that could happen?

To be continued...

*Names changed to protect both the guilty and just another innocent Matchmaker victim.