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Even 11 years later, each subsequent breakup still induces panic about dying alone, but damned if my mom hasn’t been right so far — there is always someone new “just around the corner.” And each boyfriend I’ve dated has always been a slightly better fit than the last.For example: When I brought my college boyfriend, Neel, home for the first time, I was sure he was perfect — a smart, shiny, student government-participating Indian boyfriend, the kind of future son-in-law Indian parents dream of. “He’s incredibly nice, but he’s too conservative for you.” When I once again dismissed her, she texted back a cryptic “You’ll see.” Four months later, we had broken up over his disapproval of my love of tequila shots and wearing backless Forever 21 sequined tops to parties with other guys around. Despite having done nothing egregious in her presence, Neel’s subtly domineering manner about trivial things (like when we needed to leave and who should drive) set off alarm bells in my mom’s head.Once upon a time, internet dating was a vaguely embarrassing pursuit.Who wanted to be one of those lonely hearts trolling the singles bars of cyberspace?A few years later, my friend Neha and I were each dating great guys with too much big, scary baggage — and we were sure that if we solved all their problems they’d have no choice but to love us. “Your long-term goal to making this relationship work can’t be fixing his problems — they’re just going to drag you down.” Her advice was to cut bait, and quickly, because “relationships are hard enough to maintain, and even harder to walk away from, without starting off at a disadvantage.” We were both, of course, instantly unthrilled. “Your mom was totally right,” Neha said recently, looking back.“If you spend all your time worrying about how to fix him and make him happy, when are you going to find out what makes you happy?The last 14 years of crushes and dating have involved Gchats, text messages, and phone calls aplenty about drunken nights, make-outs, arguments at crowded bars with guys I’ll never marry but keep trying to date — and through it all, my mom has never once faltered.
Their union was arranged in India back in 1975, when my then-18-year-old mom agreed to marry a 26-year-old man with a mutton-chop mustache the size of Madras whom she’d known all of three weeks. I used to be jealous of my American friends, with their sitcom-worthy parents who publicly kissed on the mouth.
“It’s more possible to find someone now than at probably any other time in history, particularly if you’re older.
You don’t have to stand in a bar and wait for the right one to come along,” says Fisher.
The second-grader who once was an extra on an episode of ? The class clown who kept teasing me on the playground? The quiet, brooding fifth-grade art lover who told me my arms were hairy like a monkey?
Well, fuck that guy now, but damned if I wasn’t into him then.