When her younger brother marries on her twenty-ninth birthday, food addict Sara Friedman drunkenly vows to three hundred wedding guests to find and marry her soul mate within the year.

After her humiliating toast becomes a YouTube sensation, she permits a national morning show to chronicle her search. With the help of best friend, Missy, she plunges head first into the shallow end of the dating pool.

Her journey leads her to question the true meaning of soul mates, as she decides between fulfilling her vow to marry before her thirtieth birthday and following her heart’s desire. But before she can make the biggest decision of her life, Sara must begin to take her first steps toward recovery from her addiction to food.

One Reviewer Notes

“I loved this book because it was funny and authentic. Sara, the heroine, faces the same dilemma we all do – learning how to accept ourselves. When she corners herself into finding her soul mate by her thirtieth birthday, she takes a wonderful life journey (often with hilarious and sometimes heart rending results.) Her trials and tribulations force her to take a hard look at herself. Wonderfully written, this is a great debut novel” – Amazon Reviewer, 5 Stars

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

PROLOGUE

FEBRUARY 25, 2013

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

The cameras’ brilliant lights blinded me, while the roar of my racing pulse hindered my ability to identify any of the voices barking instructions from all around me. As the stylist rushed to complete the last minute touches to my hair and makeup, a reassuring voice reminded me to breathe. I held out my hand to her, but they ordered me not to move, and I felt compelled to listen.

This past year, fate mocked me, leading me down a winding and confusing path, instead of the envisioned yellow brick road. I challenged my destiny every step of the way, until the day I learned to completely let go.

The music began playing, my cue to get ready. I took comfort in the knowledge somewhere nearby, he waited for me.

It’s hard to believe how much can change in one year.

It’s hard to believe how much did change in one year.

The day I waited for had finally arrived.

CHAPTER ONE

FEBRUARY 25, 2012                   WEIGHT: 185 LBS.

DETROIT, MICHIGAN                   STATUS: SINGLE

“Do you think your brother intentionally chose to get married on your birthday?” Missy asked, as we dressed for the wedding.

I shook my head, careful not to mess my hair. “Seth said this was the only day he and Emily could get the Rabbi they wanted.”

Once upon a time, I fantasized about walking down the aisle to marry a handsome prince. He would whisk me away to his castle and pamper me for the rest of my life, grateful to have won me at last. In the dream, I resembled Snow White, with a twenty-two inch waist and perfect black hair that never frizzed. My name would change from Sara Friedman to Princess Sara of Dorchester, although I’d be addressed as “Your Highness.”

As I grew older, I fantasized about walking down the aisle to marry a Jewish attorney, who would whisk me away to his mansion and pamper me for the rest of my life, grateful to have won me at last. In this dream, he didn’t care that I didn’t have a twenty-two inch waist or perfect hair. My name would change from Sara Friedman to Sara Greenberg of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, and Boca Raton, Florida.

Now, on my twenty-ninth birthday, I’d settle for eloping in Vegas at a twenty-four hour drive-thru chapel to a heterosexual, monogamous man who would shack up with me in my two-bedroom condo, grateful to have a woman to support him.

To say I lost hope of finding “Mr. Right” and living “happily ever after” would be an understatement. Out in the dating world for fifteen long years, I haven’t gotten close to meeting a man I’d consider sharing my life and bank account with on a permanent basis.

Everyone, including me, assumed I would marry before my brother, Seth. After all, I’m almost two years older than him and about ten years more mature. Seth played the field and hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since high school. At least I’d suffered through a few long-term relationships over the years. Of course, they always fizzled out before the possibility of marriage entered the equation.

Before today, I had very high standards, and I refused to date just anyone. I didn’t understand why I needed go on a date to get to know someone with undesirable qualities. I’ve never been one to compromise, but look where my high standards have gotten me.

A bridesmaid at my younger brother’s wedding.

Date-less.

Single.

No prospects in sight.

Plus, it didn’t help I’ve always been fat, sometimes weighing as much as two hundred and fifty pounds. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard I should settle for anyone who would have me. My family couldn’t understand why I didn’t continue dating Mike, a nice but boring biology major with the worst case of halitosis on record. Or Harry, appropriately named for his hirsute body, hair sticking out of the collar of his shirts and hanging off his hands like a werewolf.

Silly me, I thought after I lost some weight I’d have a better selection of men, but maybe I waited too long because I swear the only men I meet these days are married, gay, or married and gay.

And those were the good ones.

But finding his soul mate had come easily for Seth. He met Emily in graduate school in New York and after a six month whirlwind courtship, they announced their engagement. Now after a six month engagement, they were getting married.

On the bright side, because I didn’t have a date for my own brother’s wedding, I convinced him to let me bring Missy as my “plus one.” Practically family anyway, she’s been my best friend since kindergarten.

Missy and I became friends as we sat in the hallway outside our respective classrooms for a “time out.” My teacher caught me hitting some kid who teased me, and Missy yelled the word “shit” when she stubbed her toe on her desk. Sitting unsupervised for five minutes, we discovered we had a lot in common. From that point on, we were inseparable.

I used to dream Missy would marry my brother, but the dream died when she revealed to me in eleventh grade that she preferred women.

Earlier today, Missy reminded me of the potential to pick up someone at a wedding. But other than Caleb, Seth’s friend from New York, no marriageable men were coming. Of course, he had a date.

“How do I look?” Missy twirled around in her sleeveless black Lycra dress.

A size two and drop dead gorgeous, Missy never had a problem finding a date. Yet, she chose to play the field, never getting serious with any particular woman.

“Fabulous as usual. Can you help me get back into my dress?” I literally needed help due to the amount of Spanx I wore to suck in my problem areas.

I wore one to suck in my thighs, butt, and lower stomach and another to confine my breasts, muffin top, and back fat. Then, I wore pantyhose over it. I wouldn’t be able to bend over, eat, or possibly breathe all night, but at least I’d appear a size smaller.

I panicked when Emily first asked me to be a bridesmaid. I’ve always thought the sole purpose of a bridesmaid dress is to ensure no one looked better than the bride. Luckily, my future sister-in-law decided the bridesmaids could wear their own dresses, as long as it was navy and the hem fell below the knee.

I chose a silk dress which covered the fattest part of my arms and showed a good amount of cleavage, my best feature if I do say so myself.

Since Seth had hired a professional photographer to take family photos, my parents paid for me to get my hair, nails, and makeup done. Emily hired a few beauticians to come to the synagogue and work their magic on the bridal party. I don’t normally wear makeup, but I didn’t want to be the only bridesmaid with a naked face.

When I saw the girl, who later introduced herself as Ophelia, with her blue Mohawk, black lipstick, and hooped eyebrow piercing, I almost changed my mind about the whole thing. My mother convinced me if I didn’t like it, I could always wash it off and do my own makeup.

As it turned out, Ophelia did work magic. She added a thick layer of mascara to my lashes making my brown eyes seem bigger. Then, she waxed my eyebrows, so instead of having bushy Brooke Shields eyebrows, they arched in the sophisticated style of Angelina Jolie. My nonexistent lips normally disappeared on my face, but Ophelia used a dark brown lip liner and filled in my lips with a matte burgundy, creating the illusion I had full lips like Renee Zellwegger after a collagen injection.

Somehow, Ophelia even managed to make my unruly black hair behave. As I explained the dangers of hairspray to the ozone layer, she tamed my hair with massive amounts of non-aerosol hairspray and mousse and pulled back the sides with rhinestone barrettes. It would probably frizz by the end of the night, but at least it looked good for the pictures.

She really earned her overpriced pay when she added acrylic to the short bitten nubs of what I refer to as my nails. Long but functional, square but slightly rounded, I had beautiful nails for the first time in my life. I kept glancing at my hands in awe, as if they belonged to someone else.

Too bad I didn’t have a diamond ring to wear.

Just as Missy zipped my dress, the door to the dressing room opened and Goldman, my brother’s Best Man, peeked his head inside. “Your mom sent me to get you guys. We’re meeting for the Badeken and you and I have to sign the Ketubah.”

Adam Goldman and my brother became friends in middle school, when they got into a fight and my brother sat on him. Apparently that’s all guys have to do to make friends.

For some reason, everyone just calls him Goldman.

“Tell my mom we’ll be right there. And if you ever open the door again without knocking while I’m getting dressed, I’ll kill you.”

Goldman smiled sardonically and nodded before closing the door. I chastised myself for feeling annoyed, when I should be used to it by now.

A year younger and two years behind me in school, I had had a huge crush on him in high school. Whenever my brother excited the room, leaving us alone, he’d ask me questions about school and who I liked. As soon as my brother returned, he’d act as obnoxious as my brother, making crude jokes and bodily function noises.

I thought maybe he liked me and didn’t want my brother to know. One night, when he slept over, my brother fell asleep on the couch while we watched the original “Nightmare on Elm Street.” At the part where Freddy Krueger kills Johnny Depp in his waterbed, I buried my face in Goldman’s chest. While I waited for the scene to be over, he began petting my hair. I tilted my head, sure he’d kiss me. Instead, he said my hair felt like his poodle’s, abruptly ending my crush on him.

I turned to Missy, taking her hand in mine. “Promise me no matter how drunk I get tonight you won’t let me embarrass myself.”

Missy laughed and put her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll do my best, but it won’t be easy,” she teased.

She and I left our dressing room and entered a conference room filled to capacity with five bridesmaids, five groomsmen, four parents, two siblings, one bride, one groom, one wedding planner, and one seriously ancient Rabbi.

All heads turned to me.

“I’m out of here,” muttered Missy, running out of the room.

“Traitor!” I said, under my breath.

Apparently, I spoke louder than I thought, because Goldman gave me another one of his smiles and added a chuckle.

Let’s just hope my mother didn’t hear.

I tried to take a seat at the conference table, but I couldn’t sit with all the Spanx. The bridal party glared at me, surely wondering why I awkwardly rested on the back of the chair, straddling rather than sitting in it.

I smiled and gave them the only excuse I could think up on such short notice. “I don’t want to wrinkle my dress before the ceremony.”

After a few uncomfortable seconds, the Rabbi began. “Even though you have three hundred people waiting in the sanctuary to watch you marry, the marriage actually occurs right now as we sign the Ketubah. For those of you who may not know, the beautiful Ketubah chosen by Emily and Seth is a Jewish marriage contract which explains that marriage is not only a physical and emotional union, but a legal and moral commitment to one another. As Emily’s husband, Seth promises to provide her with food, clothing, a home, and my personal favorite, physical pleasure. Note it says nothing about Emily’s obligations to Seth.”

Everyone laughed, as the Rabbi had intended. I’m sure he told the same joke at every wedding.

“Emily and Seth will now sign the Ketubah, followed by their witnesses, Adam and Sara,” declared the Rabbi.

After signing the Ketubah, I joined my parents, while the parties signed the marriage certificate for the State of Michigan.

“Technically, Seth and Emily are now husband and wife. But since your guests are waiting to see you two get married, I suppose we shouldn’t disappoint them.” The Rabbi paused, waiting for the laugh. I forced one, so he wouldn’t be offended, but honestly, I started to feel a little sorry for the old guy.

“Now for the Badekan, Seth will put a veil over Emily, just like when Rebecca married Isaac. This reminds us that however attractive physical appearance may be, the soul and character of a person are more important.”

Hmm, maybe I should wear a veil from now on.

After Seth and Emily repeated a few things in Hebrew I didn’t understand, the Rabbi led us to the lobby of the Sanctuary for the “unofficial” wedding ceremony. The party planner lined us all up like cattle and the music began to play. My mother insisted on standard Jewish music, but Emily and Seth chose to walk to “Wind Beneath My Wings” played by a live harp player.

I walked down the aisle with Caleb Young. Too bad he came with a date, because for a friend of my brother’s, he seemed to be a decent guy, not to mention good-looking.

Unlike the men I’m usually attracted to, Caleb had light brown hair with natural golden highlights and blue eyes. I preferred my men a little on the heavier side or at least tall and muscular, but Caleb was lean and only a few inches taller than my five-foot five inches. I’d bet my life savings he ran for fun. I never understood the point of running, unless someone chased you. Plus, I only dated Jewish men and judging by the cross around his neck, Caleb was a nice Catholic boy.

We took our places around the chuppah as the ceremony began. My feet swelled from my high heels and it would be another half-hour before I could attempt to sit. Hopefully, Missy would figure out a way for me to sit without popping out of my Spanx.

Halfway through the ceremony, something fell into my eye. I tried to ignore it, but it hurt too much and I couldn’t keep it open. My eyes watered uncontrollably and I prayed Ophelia used waterproof mascara or else I’d end up resembling a wet raccoon before the service ended.

After what felt like an eternity, Missy rescued me by discretely passing me a tissue. God, I love that woman. It’s really too bad I’m not a lesbian, because she’s exactly what I’ve been searching for, minus the penis, of course.

As I dried my tears and removed the source of my discomfort, a clump of mascara, I peered into the sea of guests, who should have been watching Seth and Emily drinking from a cup of wine. To my absolute horror, six hundred eyes focused on me.

I choked back the urge to run off and check a mirror. I raised an eyebrow at Missy who then pointed to her smile. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Her whole body shook with repressed laughter.

I leaned over to the bridesmaid standing next to me. “Caitlyn, is there something on my face?”

She barely glimpsed at me. “No, you look fine.”

“Mazel Tov!” Seth stepped on the glass, completing the ceremony and kissing his bride.

The wedding party exited exactly as we rehearsed earlier in the day. As soon as I could, I ran into the bathroom to see what had everyone riveted to my face. Other than smeared makeup, nothing appeared too interesting.

“Hey, girlfriend! Want a drink?” Missy came into the ladies restroom with two glasses of champagne.

“Missy, why was everyone staring at me?”

She put her hand on my shoulder. Oh dear, this couldn’t be good.

“Everyone thought it was beautiful you were crying at your brother’s wedding.”

Okay, that didn’t sound too bad. I could live with that. Then, a troubling thought occurred to me.

“They thought I was crying because I was jealous, didn’t they?”

Missy grimaced. “I don’t think everyone thought that.”

“Oh, God.” I took a glass of champagne from her and drank it all without stopping, before snatching her glass and finishing that off, too. “Mmm, this is really good. I never drank Kosher champagne before. Let’s go find some more.”

Arm in arm, Missy and I went to face the crowd.

An hour and two more glasses of champagne later, Missy and I listened to Emily’s parents welcome everyone to the wedding. With Missy’s assistance, I finally sat for the first time since getting dressed. She and I sat at the table with both sets of parent and Emily’s brother, Jon, and his wife, Susie.

I hadn’t eaten anything since the four donuts for breakfast, and the champagne made me feel warm and relaxed. A little bit tipsy, I had no intention of getting up from the table anytime soon. Unfortunately, my brother had other plans for me.

“Seth’s sister would like to say a few words,” Emily’s father announced over the microphone.

Horrified, I turned to my mother.

“I’m sure I told you,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

No, Mom, you failed to mention I’d have to get up and make an impromptu speech in front of an audience, who believed I cried during the ceremony out of jealousy.

Missy gave me a light jab on my shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

I shot her a dirty look and seized another glass of champagne as I made my way to the stage.

I should have made it quick and to the point. But the lack of food and the abundance of alcohol surging through my system gave me another idea.

I grabbed the microphone, pleased to know I didn’t have one ounce of stage fright.

“Shalom, I’m Sara Friedman, Seth’s sister. I’m really happy to be here today to celebrate this momentous occasion with everyone.” I should have said l’chayim and ended it there. No, I kept on talking.

“They say we each have a beshert, a soul mate, the person God has chosen for us. We spend our lives searching for it, many of us never finding it, and many of us failing to recognize it when it might be right in front of us. It’s clear to me Seth and Emily are beshert. Not two halves of a whole, but two whole souls that belong together.” So far, so good.

“You’d think with all the resources at our fingertips these days, it would be easier to find your soul mate. After all, with theInternet we can meet people from all over the world without even leaving our house. Not long ago, we married the person our parents chose for us. Times changed, and with it we earned the right to choose our own mate. No longer requiring our family’s approval, we could get married to whomever we wanted, whenever we wanted. We could run off to Vegas to be married by an Elvis impersonator without even leaving our car.”

I started to get weepy, a sure sign I’d consumed too much champagne. It was as if I stood outside of myself watching the fiasco unfold and unable to stop it.

“Today, I turned twenty-nine and I wonder if I’ll ever meet my own beshert. Did we already meet and fail to recognize we belonged together? Did I lose my chance already?”

I stopped and pondered my own profound musings for a moment, before remembering I still held the microphone. Oh dear, what was I saying? I decided I better wrap it up, since the room started spinning.

“I’m jealous of my brother.” Crap, did that really just come out of my mouth?

“I mean, I’m not jealous just because my younger brother got married before me and I’m twenty-nine with no possible prospects in sight,” I stammered.

The audience giggled, and I wondered if they believed me, because I sure didn’t.

“I’m happy for my brother, because if he can find his beshert, it gives me hope that someday, I will, too.”

Before I could stop myself, the words I would live to regret flew out of my mouth. “Even without a significant man in my life at the moment, I promise you by the time I turn thirty, I will be married.”

Oh my God, did I really just say that? “With that, I’ll end by saying Mazel Tov, Seth and Emily. L’chayim!” I held up my empty glass of champagne.

Everyone clapped as I returned to my table. I hoped the videographer could edit my speech out of the wedding video, or ’I’d never live it down. My brother would play it at every holiday just to torture me.

Missy gave me a sympathetic smile. “That was a great speech until you blew it by admitting you were jealous and swore to marry by your thirtieth birthday.”

I groaned and put my head in my hands, terrified to think the night just started.

The waiters brought some rolls to the table and I grabbed one, eating greedily to soak up some of the alcohol in my system. After the salad, I began to feel normal again.

The bandleader asked the bridal party and their partners to join Emily and Seth on the dance floor. I get the privilege of slow dancing with Goldman. This should be fun.

Since Goldman didn’t bring a date and Emily considered it inappropriate for me to dance with Missy, she requested Goldman and I dance together.

As we met on the dance floor, the band began massacring the Bangles “Eternal Flame.” Goldman placed both hands on my waist, and I hung my arms limply around his neck.

He tightened his grip and pulled me closer. My head rested against his chest, just as it had all those years ago. His hand moved up and down my back and I swear he sniffed my hair. I started to get tingly all over as his hard body rubbed up against mine. I cursed myself for letting him affect me that way, when I should have known better.

Goldman encompassed all my favored physical attributes. Even though my mind understood he was a jerk, my body lusted after his. I wanted to run my fingers through his dark brown wavy hair, stare into those deep chocolate eyes, and strip off his clothes. That’s why I usually stayed at least five feet away from him at all times.

Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t be able to follow my own rules.

The longer we danced, the faster my pulse raced. I swore I felt his own heart beating quicker, too, and his breathing seemed deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough air.

His lips brush my ear. Oh my God, was he going to kiss me?

“I liked your speech, Sara. All your talk about beshert.”

I didn’t dare raise my eyes to meet his. Instead, I kept my gaze focused on his chest.

“Thanks, Goldman. That’s nice of you to say.”

“Do you really think you’ll find someone to marry you within the year?”

I pushed him away from me, angry at myself for believing for one moment there could be anything between us.

“You are such an asshole, Goldman.”

For a moment, I thought I saw hurt in his eyes. Then, I reminded myself Goldman would have to have feelings in order for me to hurt him.

I stormed away from him, intending to return to my table to eat dinner and complain to Missy. Before I managed to leave the dance floor, someone tapped my shoulder.

I spun around expecting to find Goldman with another one of his so-called compliments.

“Would you care to dance?” Caleb asked.

Although I really wanted to eat, I couldn’t turn down a dance with the one handsome eligible bachelor I didn’t hate.

“Sure, I’d like that,” I said, moving back onto the dance floor.

He put his left hand on my upper back and his right hand in mine. I felt like Elizabeth dancing with Mr. Darcy.

“Doesn’t your date mind you dancing with someone else?” Even an overweight, frizzy haired one like me?

He shook his head and smiled. “Staci and I are just friends. She has family in Detroit. She came with me from New York so I wouldn’t have to go stag to the wedding.”

Hmm, single and available. Too bad he lived in New York and I lived in Michigan. Or was that a good thing?

We could have one of those romantic long-distance relationships. One where we talked for hours on the phone, learning each other’s secrets and typed explicit emails about what we planned on doing to each other when we finally reunited. Build up everything, so that when we were together, the reality couldn’t possibly top the fantasies we’d created. Spend lots of money we didn’t have on airfare.

Okay, maybe a long distance relationship wasn’t such a good idea.

“You give a good speech by the way. I agree. It isn’t easy finding someone.”

I waited for the ridicule and the criticism, but it never came. He gave me a compliment!

“Thank you. I’m sure you don’t have any problem getting a date though, do you?”

He smiled sheepishly. “No, you’re right, I can get a date whenever I want one. But it’s like you said in your speech. It might be easy to meet a person, but it’s much harder to find the right one.” He stared into my eyes with a look so hot it could melt an iceberg.

Was he talking about me?

I tried to think up some clever, witty retort. I drew a blank. Instead, I smiled and nodded.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

Before the word “yes” left my mouth, I remembered my earlier reservations about dating someone long distance.

“I’m sorry, but you live in New York, right?”

“I do, but I’m moving here next month. In fact, I spent this week searching for an apartment, when I wasn’t keeping your brother from freaking out.”

I laughed at thought of my brother panicking over his impending nuptials. “Yes, I’d love to go out with you sometime. Can I give you my number?”

He grinned at me as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, hit a couple of buttons and turned it to me. “I already got it from your brother.”

Caleb walked me back to my seat. Missy stopped talking to my father as we approached, her eyebrows rising telling me she wanted to hear all the juicy details.

I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “I’ll tell you about it when we leave.”

Four hours later, I finished dinner, ate a slice of wedding cake, and managed to drink another five glasses of champagne. After dancing to every Motown classic, I wanted to collapse from pure exhaustion. Most of the guests left, but some of my brother’s friends continued to dance and take advantage of the open bar. Missy and I already said our goodbyes to my family.

“I’m ready to go. Do you want to get our coats from the dressing room?”

“I’ve got to use the ladies’ room first. Why don’t you get our coats and I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

“Sounds good to me.” I stumbled my way to our dressing room. Plunged into darkness as the door closed behind me, I couldn’t find the light switch. I hit my knee against a chair and groaned from the pain.

The door opened and someone entered the room. I assumed it was Missy coming to rescue me once again.

“I can’t find the light switch, Missy. Do you know where it is?”

Without warning, someone yanked me tightly against his warm, solid body. I heard his slight intake of breath and then he kissed me.

I know I should have fought against it, but whoever he was, he kissed sinfully well. At first, his soft lips whispered lightly against my own, seeking permission. When not only didn’t I stop him, but made a little moan of approval, his tongue caressed my lips until I opened my mouth. Only then did he allow his tongue to touch mine, first tentatively exploring the hidden depths of my mouth, and then hard and passionately, as though he’d never get enough of me.

He tasted like a heavenly combination of whiskey and cake. His tongue teased mine in sweet caresses, heating my blood to a fevered pitch.

Desperately needing to learn the identity of my mystery man, I lifted my hand to touch his face. He grabbed it away, nibbling on each fingertip then gently brushed his fingers across my cheek. I licked my lips in preparation of more kisses, but instead of kissing me, he spun me around in circles, confusing my sense of balance. As the world tilted on its axis and I tried to regain my bearings, he silently left the room.

For a few minutes, I stood rooted to the spot, attempting to recover from the encounter and craving more from my mystery kisser. Blushing from my response to him, I knew although I’d never seen his face, I would have made love to him if he’d asked. Before him, no one in twenty-nine years had made my body burn that way.

Suddenly, I remembered the room’s two floor lamps. I floundered around the room until I smacked into one. After finding our coats, I left the synagogue with Missy.

Ending the evening of my twenty-ninth birthday with a kiss from my mysterious suitor should have thrilled me. Instead, I wondered why he (as drunk as I was, I was pretty sure I would have noticed if it was a woman) didn’t unmask his identity.

Was he married?

Self-conscious?

Fifteen or eighty-five years old?

Or even worse, embarrassed to be discovered kissing me?

Tired of being alone and bringing Missy as my date, I learned one important lesson that night. I ached for what my brother had found with Emily. I yearned for my soul mate.

How would I find him?

CHAPTER TWO

FEBRUARY 26, 2012                   WEIGHT: 185 1/2 LBS.

DETROIT, MICHIGAN                   STATUS: SINGLE

“Just five minutes more, Mom,” I mumbled, placing the pillow over my head to drown out the sound of the workmen. It didn’t help, since the pounding in my head stayed in tempo with the ones coming from outside my front door. Through my hungover haziness, I realized someone was knocking on my front door.

“Coming!” I hoarsely yelled, my parched throat begging for a glass of water.

I tugged on my robe, and then staggered to the door of my condo.

“Rise and shine! I brought coffee!” Missy gleefully announced from outside.

I opened the door to glare at my friend.

“Why are you here? And so early?” I groaned, traipsing back to bed.

“First of all, it’s not early. It’s nearly noon. Second, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I know how to help you,” she babbled, thrusting one of the coffees my way.

I needed to drink some coffee before I could figure out what the hell Missy was talking about. Completely lost, I felt as though I came in on the middle of a conversation. After a few cautious sips of my nonfat café latte, I sighed in pleasure. There’s nothing like a little caffeine to perk a girl right up.

Missy sat on my bed, rumbling through a large tie-dye bag.

“Missy, why are you here?”

“On the way home, you cried about how you wanted to get married by your thirtieth birthday. I’m here to help you make your dreams come true.”

Say what? I had no recollection of crying last night.

I sat there racking my brain, trying to remember what happened to cause me to…Oh God.

The kiss from my mystery man. Feeling as though I’d never find anyone who would make me feel like he did. Jealous my brother would go on his honeymoon to Hawaii, while I would go home alone to my empty life.

When Missy drove me home last night, I told her about the kiss. She asked me questions to help me determine his identity, but I couldn’t remember anything other than how good he kissed. His height, build, whether he had facial hair, all the discerning details, gone from my memory, thanks to my two bottles of champagne. Missy pointed out it could have even have been a woman, for all I remembered.

I whined that I was tired of being single. I told her I had to get married by the time I turned thirty. No, I didn’t just tell her. I swore on my Nana’s grave, I would get married within the year, even if I spent my entire life savings.

“I might have exaggerated somewhat last night. After all, I’d drunk a few glasses of champagne,” I reminded Missy.

“Are you saying you don’t want to get married by your thirtieth birthday?”

Did I? Was I ready to share my life with a partner? Did I want someone to stay in bed with on Sunday mornings to read the New York Times, someone to accompany me to family dinners, and someone who would remind me not to drink too much champagne?

“I do,” I confided to both Missy and myself.

“Then you need to put yourself out there and jump into the dating pool,” Missy advised, as she pulled out her Dell laptop computer from her bag.

“Haven’t I been doing that for the last ten years? I’ve been dating since my freshman year of high school, so really, I’ve spent more than half my life already searching for my soul mate. If I haven’t found the one by now, what makes you think this time will be any different?”“

“Take a deep breath, sweetie, and listen to me. Yes, you’ve been dating for roughly fifteen years. How many dates do you think you average a year, not including the times you were in a relationship? Maybe three at most?”

As I thought it over and tried to calculate with my still hungover brain, I deduced Missy probably overestimated the amount of dates per year. I spent the last two years without any dates at all. Sadly, it had been even longer since I had sex. I was practically a born-again virgin.

Even though Missy was my best friend in the world, I couldn’t reveal the truth of my pathetic love life. I couldn’t admit I lied to her many times throughout the years, telling her I went on a date, when I actually stayed home watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eating an entire package of Girl Scout Samoa cookies before passing out high from a sugar binge. Some things were just too private and painful to share with even my best friend.

Women literally threw themselves at Missy’s feet. I’m not kidding. I’ve seen it happen.

After seeing Les Miserable at the theatre, we visited a gay bar in the city. I figured I owed her, since she always came with me to the hetero bars. Plus, I have to admit, I was curious about what it would be like. Since women look deeper than physical appearance, I thought I had a shot at being hit on. I visualized having to politely reject some beautiful lesbian.

Not only did I not get hit on, three women bribed the DJ to play “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,” in order to serenade Missy just like the scene from Top Gun where Tom Cruise and his buddies sang to Kelly McGillis. She ended up dating one of them for a few weeks after, but then broke it off because the woman sang too much. I mean, what did she expect?

“Yes, three dates a year sounds about right,” I lied. “So, I haven’t dated a lot of men, but how is that relevant?”

“Here’s how I see it. The more dates you go on, the greater the chance you’ll meet the right guy. For the next year, you’ll put yourself out there. Like you said in your toast last night, technology has changed the way we do things.”

I groaned over the mention of my speech. Something else I shamefully accomplished while intoxicated.

“I am never going to live that down. Goldman will bring it up every time he sees me from now on. I wouldn’t surprise me if he puts it on YouTube for the whole world to see. Then, whenever I meet a guy, he’ll only have to Google me to discover I’m desperate.”

Embarrassing scenarios rushed through my imagination. Missy clapped her hands three times to get my attention.

“Don’t worry about Goldman or anyone else for that matter. It wasn’t as bad as you think. Besides, I seriously doubt anyone will bother to take the time to embarrass you on YouTube.”

“Fine,” I muttered, trying to stay focused on the present. “What are your ideas for getting me out there?”

“What you need is to join JDate. You and I will spend the day developing your profile and when it’s complete, you’ll pick five men to contact.”

“That’s it?”

“No, that’s not it. If any of those five respond, you’ll set up a date to meet them.”

“Shouldn’t we email or talk on the phone for a while before meeting?” I interrupted.

“Absolutely not. You don’t want to waste time and that’s exactly what you’ll do if you don’t meet someone right away. First, it will help to eliminate those guys who are married, lying about their appearance, or too intimidated to go on a real date. Second, you can get to know someone on the phone and then you meet and there’s no chemistry. Third, the idea is to go out on as many dates as you can. Phone calls and emails do not count as dates.”

My head spun as I processed everything. I needed something to eat.

I ran to the kitchen to bring a box of Lucky Charms cereal back to my room to munch on while Missy instructed me on “Ten Ways to Meet Your Future Husband Thru the Internet.” She typed it for me while she spoke.

“You will contact five men that live in the tri-county area each week. The email will include one thing you liked about their profile.

“You will accept all offers of a date.

“If he doesn’t ask for a date after one week, you will ask him out. If he gives any excuse, i.e. out of town, working, etc., cease all communications with him.

“You will change your photos monthly to accurately portray your current appearance.

“Always portray confidence. Never indulge in self-deprecating behavior.

“Don’t exaggerate or lie about yourself. He’ll discover it eventually.

If you don’t feel any chemistry on your first date, tell him at the end of the evening. Do not pretend you’re interested in a second date or plan on telling him by email you’re not interested. Treat him as you wish to be treated and be honest.

“Even if you aren’t interested, let him kiss you if he tries. Don’t forget that on Friends, Monica wasn’t interested in Pete until he kissed her. Yes, they didn’t end up together, but that’s not the point. If you are interested, try to get him to kiss you.

“Don’t stop dating other people even if you are interested in one. Until you are in a committed relationship, you will continue to contact five men a week per this agreement.

“Don’t have sex on the first date even if you want to!!! Wait at least four dates!”

After she printed her rules out, she made me read it out loud and sign it in acknowledgement.

Someday, I’d get my revenge.

Continued….

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