NOW PANIC and FREAK OUT!

Seriously.

Just the other day I got a rather annoying but still tolerable request to “meet” someone.  The plan: dupe me into visiting guy’s parents’ home under pretext of “house blessing”, where I accidentally get to spend time with guy in question.  A “go-between” neighbor suggested my mother keep this teensy little detail from me, just in case I say no.

My mom, fearing my legendary temper, decided it was more prudent to let me know.

Briefly: I said yes, because the parents of said guy are sort-of friends and used to be our neighbors. They’re pretty nice, though I don’t really know them that well, and the polite thing to do is go along and pretend that I know nothing of their cutesy little ploy.

I’d go to their stupid little house blessing thing, smile and nod and talk to guy, then go home with social obligations fulfilled.  No additional promises.

BUT THEN THINGS HAVE THIS UNCANNY WAY OF TURNING INTO SHIT. 

This morning go-between neighbor’s wife called my mom, excited about this weekend’s meet-and-greet.  Could my two other sisters come along as well?

Here’s a tiny bit that might require a little explaining to non-Tsinoy readers. When you say you’re going to “meet” someone, it’s a sad little exercise in mutual evaluation.  Essentially, every other single girl you bring into the mix is another “potential” partner. 

You can see why I flipped.

Obviously, guy in question has no idea who I am. He’s probably seen me once or twice, but I can bet you he doesn’t know my name.  Asking my other sisters to “visit” their house as well is tantamount to asking us three to present ourselves and await his judgment.

FUCKING A.

Maybe a dance showdown will be required.  Maybe we’ll have to outrun each other.  The one who eats the largest number of live worms wins.

What I can’t fucking figure out is why this shit has to be so insulting.  We are not interchangeable.  We are three different individuals, with specific traits, talents and quirks.  We are not Five, Six, Seven of Nine.

We are people, goddammit, and the fact that this random guy, his family and our stupid go-between neighbors seem to be treating us like little more than choice cuts in a fucking meat deli is NOT ACCEPTABLE.

We are not commodities you pick up and scrutinize at leisure.  

I’ve had old ladies try to set me up with their grandsons.  I say no, but I take no offense, because each and every time these old ladies see something in me they like and think I’d be good for their little boys.  They see ME, not a cardboard cutout who fits certain traditional stereotypes. Sure, they’re wonky old ladies, but at least they’re not treating me like some piece of broccoli from the grocery.

So I say FUCK THAT.

My parents have said no, we’re not having our other daughters visit you.  And my eldest is going only because we need her to drive us to your quaint little bullshit event.

This Sunday, I’ll definitely be there.  I’ll be polite.  I’ll be all smiles and nods. I’ll be Little Miss Perfect.

But nobody drop the vaguest hint that I’m little more than a prospective trophy wife, or I WILL SCHOOL THEM IN THE DEFINITION OF FUCKING POSTAL.