Dear Amy: I am a (usually content) single 30-year-old woman.
My mother is getting married in two months.
She has already tried to set me up with her fiancee's nephew (um, no), as well as a former employee (good guy but not for me).
Now her fiancé has decided that the wedding is the perfect time to introduce me to all his single co-workers (no, just no).
Add in all the well-meaning aunties asking me when I'm going to find a "nice man and settle down."
I’ve started to dread this day.
My solution? Take my own date.
There will be no awkward set-ups if I already have a date. I’ll still have to field inappropriate questions from the aunties, but at least I wouldn't have to face them alone.
Four months ago, I signed up for a dating app and have since been reminded why I'm happily single.
With the wedding only two months away, do I admit defeat and go solo?
I also feel that this wedding is not the best time to any prospective match to "meet the parents."
– Destined to be Dateless
Dear Dateless: I have a dim memory of seeing this basic plot in a Debra Messing movie … what was it called? Oh yes – (checks Wikipedia) – the “Wedding Date”. Debra Messing’s character hires a male escort to be her wedding date.
Hilarity ensues. Love blooms.
The obvious solution – at least to me – is for you to bring a (male or female) friend as your date, with the expressed intent that this person should serve as your wing-person. Their role would be to ward off random singletons, and if necessary, to use a serving platter from the buffet table as a shield to protect you from nosey aunties.
No matter what – keep a sense of humor about this annoyance. Having people try to set you up may make you feel as if you are somehow inadequate as you are (you’re not), but the intent is usually benign: People who equate happiness with being coupled-up think you’re wonderful.
Your problem contains the foundation for a pretty solid romantic comedy, so after the wedding is over, you might want to write it up.
Dear Amy: I recently celebrated my 70th birthday.
It truly was a memorable day for me, except for one thing.
My best friend of more than 40 years did not call or send a card or gift.
I received an acknowledgement on Facebook, but it was nothing notable.
We live five minutes from each other and see each other frequently.
We were together a week after my birthday. Again, she never mentioned it.
We have not had an argument.
I never miss her special day. I have given gifts, and always call on the day of her birthday.
I am hurt and angry. At this point, I just want to ghost her.
Help this old lady deal with this breach in friendship.
– Sad at Seventy
Dear Sad: Turning 70 is a milestone birthday, but please don’t turn this disappointment into severing a relationship of many decades.
It is not clear from your account whether your friend’s behavior toward you on this birthday was different from other years.
When a friend’s behavior toward you changes or is baffling, the most obvious conclusion would be to wonder what might be going on in her own life.
Before ghosting her, it would be kindest toward both of you if you explored this in a simple and transparent way: “I have to admit that I was disappointed that you didn’t call on my birthday. It was such a big deal for me, and I felt like you missed it. This didn’t seem normal for you, and I’m wondering if you’re OK?”
I hope you two can clear the air in order to have many more opportunities to celebrate one another.
Dear Amy: This great-aunt appreciates your sensitive advice to the mother who is frustrated by repeated requests for gift lists from her partner's family.
Lists will not prevent her children from getting gifts they don't like.
There will still be teachable moments.
I hope she will be rewarded, as our family was when a 4-year-old opened a package that was not what he expected, based on the shape and size.
He examined it and cheerfully declared, “It’s not what we wanted, but we like it.”
– Grateful List User
Dear Grateful: When I was four, I opened a set of steak knives intended for my mother. I still remember how desperate I was to keep them.
©2021 Amy Dickinson. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.