This was originally posted long ago, but since many of you are too lazy to look through my archives- I have edited it and reposted it.
This article was sent to me by a red headed, Canadian lady friend of mine who wished to remain annonymous. I took her ramblings and added my own spice.
So I am standing at the Mechitza peering into the men’s section at the shtick being preformed for the chosson and kallah. A guy dressed in a clown outfit is juggling flaming bowling pins to the excitement of the chosson and kallah and the glee of all those watching the fiery display. The women peek over the mechitza scared of being chased back behind the iron curtain to where they will be forced to conduct the slamming of the foot in the middle dance and be void of cool shtick. For some reason we girls can never think on anything good to do- always some skits or dressing like cowgirls or break dancing- while we try and see what the guys are cheering about and notice a guy dressed like a lion riding a unicycle with a wine bottle balanced on his head or maybe a bunch of guys dancing the Macarena- but we are forced to a life of peering rather than being included and so here I am forcing my way between yiddisher mamales and the chossons first cousins to peer at the spectacle taking place.
Then I see him, clad in his wide brimmed borcelino with the front brim tipped down, black brimmed glasses, gleaming white shirt hiding his six pack and a bright orange tie. He has a wide smile and looks to be about 23 years old. He has got that tight leaning over the shtender at his seat in Baltimore while shteiging away at bava metzia look. I wonder if his name is Yanky, or shmuley, or maybe Yechiel. I let the sylibals of Yechiel roll off my tounge as a droplet of drool forms on my lip gloss. I quickly wipe it away with my thumb catching some of my so-called untznius “red” lipstick residue. I start to think about our chasunah and what kind of cholent he would want me to cook, what our kids will look like, if he’s into Shweky and right before I start imagining our wedding night I catch myself. I wonder if he’s married?
This brings me to my complaint or rant. So there you are young man looking at us women over the mechitza trying to catch our eye or trying to find your aunt or whatever- and you notice a young lady maybe myself who catches your attention. Instantly you see her sheitle, fall, wedding ring, engagement ring, large stomach with a child inside, child sucking on nipple etc…Meaning within an instant of checking out this lovely ladies mid section you have passed on to the next one finding out she’s married within the first couple of seconds of sizing her up. And for the rare case that actually think she’s single she will tell you off within 2 minutes of you trying to score a shidduch date at the midtown Marriott with her- and your elevator riding dreams go out the window.
For us women this is not so simple. Very rare is the frum guy that dons a wedding band, and even rarer is the frum man that wears a sheitle- unless Rogaine didn’t work as prescribed, and even rarer is does the frum man show signs of being pregnant. My beef is that unlike women men actually enjoy being hit on, and will play with it until they feel its time to drop the news of their being married. Hurt and embarrassed we retreat to the other side of the mechitza of kabbals haponim where we can drown our sorrows in pasta salad or finger foods. Why shouldn’t men have to wear wedding bands- besides being happily married it signals to potential shidduchs that you are off limits? Its not like we can tell by the size or style of their hat, yarmulke, or length of payos if they are married. We may able to tell by the three kids they are holding- but who is to say that they are his kids. This is just my beef.