We’ve all made the mistake of setting up friends on a blind date. You know two single people, you think they would be perfect for each other because they have so much in common–for example, both of them are extremely lonely–and you suggest arranging a blind date to throw the two lonely hearts together. What’s wrong with trying to help?
I’m not saying you should never set people up on a blind date, but I am saying you should never call it a blind date, or even a date for that matter. Going on a blind date brings so much pressure to look your best, be personable, desperately grasp at conversation starters, all while under the microscope of being the type of person who can’t find a date on your own.
My suggestion: Take the pressure off by setting people up on the blindest blind date–a date so blind, they don’t even know they’re on a date.
I asked Lauren and Brian–two friends of mine whom I knew would be perfect for each other–to help me move. After thirty minutes I said I had to run out to get more boxes and returned four hours later wearing a wet swimsuit with a towel over my shoulder, drinking a Slurpee, and carrying no boxes. During those four hours they had plenty of time to talk about all the things they had in common–like how much they agreed I was a terrible friend. The final straw came when I started to play the piano while they were trying to move it, and they both stormed off, only to return a short time later to ask if I could re-park the moving truck which I had purposely parked behind Lauren’s car. I responded by shouting at them for interrupting me in the middle of playing Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, which takes me twenty minutes to play, and now I had to start over. After ten minutes of waiting as I played as slowly as possible, Brian offered to give Lauren a ride home, and they ended up stopping for drinks so they could discuss their terrible day.
You’re welcome, Lauren. You’re welcome, Brian.
The Despondent Note Blind Date
I left a despondent note for Todd and a despondent note for Donna and told them I was headed to Lookout Point to end it all. They both showed up and tried to talk me down from the cliff.
Paul: What’s the point? I have nothing to live for. None of my friends even care about me.
Todd: I care about you, Paul!
Donna: Me, too.
Paul: You guys both care about me? Sure sounds like you have a lot in common. Do either of you like photography?
Todd: Paul, you know I love photography! I’m a wedding photographer!
Donna: Really? I’m a wedding florist.
Paul: But nobody shares my love of cats wearing wedding dresses.
Todd: That’s not true! You know I love cat weddings! You were the first one I told about my cat wedding book idea Here Meows the Bride.
Donna: I would buy that book! I would absolutely buy that book! I make tiny bouquets for my cats.
Does anybody else hear wedding bells?
The Charity Bake Sale Blind Date
I told Monica and David I was organizing a charity bake sale in the park and asked if they would both bake something and set up their own tables. On Sunday, they were the only two tables in the entire park because none of the fake people I invited showed up. I came for fifteen minutes and muttered how disappointed I was that only 2 out of 200 committed tables showed up and apparently 99% of people cared more about the Super Bowl than charity. I excused myself because the Super Bowl was starting, but I didn’t feel bad because I knew Monica and David would want to be alone so they could discuss the two things I knew they had in common: 1. Their love of feeling holier than others 2. Their hatred of football.
I’ve had a lot of success in my secret blind date setups, and five of those trick dates grew into long-term relationships. I rarely receive acknowledgement for setting up these single friends, but I don’t mind–because nobody blamed me when two out of those five success stories ended horribly.