I know I shouldn’t generalize an entire profession, but it is a truth universally acknowledged that accountants are far from social butterflies. They prefer numbers to words and computers to people. In other words, they represent everything I am not.
Except for one commonality– many of them, particularly in New York, are Jewish. And a socially inept Jewish accountant is potentially in search of a socially adept aspiring Jewish lawyer/journalist. Or so my godmother informed me at Rosh Hashana lunch.
Now most of the time, when matchmaker wannabes approach me with gentlemen they deem to be husband material, I dismiss them and their recommendations. However, when my godmother, a born and bred Israeli, mentioned a financially stable accountant in need of a new wife, I could not for the life of me ignore her.
You see, she is one of the toughest women I know. She is the one who taught me how to never take no for an answer, always bargain in the shoe store, and wear 4-inch heels without keeling over in pain. Simply put, girlfriend is a ball-busting balaboosta with three capital Bs.
Therefore when she suggested I date a successful recently divorced accountant, I couldn’t engage in my usual, “Um, I’m single and I like it” schpiel. Instead, I had to smile and nod and agree to view his resume and head shot.
But as I smiled and nodded, I could not help but wonder how at 22 I had arrived at dating divorcee status. Were there no Orthodox men below the age of 30 who had not already wed? Were the only ones the “damaged dudes,” who had experienced the ever prevalent in secular society, but ever so rare in Orthodoxy divorce?
And furthermore, did Orthodox guys do anything remotely interesting with their careers? Or, did they all settle for the safe money-making jobs in finance and such?
When I recounted this exchange to my roommate, a finance biddie herself, she could not help but grimace. Despite her oh-so-serious boyfriend, she couldn’t fathom how I had arrived at 27 year old divorcee status. “Seriously, the only ones left are divorced,” she asked quizzically.
And the only remark I could make is, “Moses, I hope not.” I hope there are some eligible Jewish bachelors with limited baggage and interesting career choices who will someday in a non-inebriated state decide to go for the gold and ask me out. But, frankly, I’m not so sure.
One of my New Year’s Resolutions for 5772 is to be more realistic; to think with my head rather than my heart. Instead of pinning after the impossible, I need to sort myself out and go for the probable. Take risks, but within reason. And never ever date an accountant… unless of course he happens to be: