I was listening to the radio this morning, and the morning show had a so-called "dating expert" on the line who mentioned that there's something wrong with a 35-year-old male who hasn't been married yet.
Which just brings to mind the conversation that I had with my father the other morning--he called on Monday morning, before I left for work, asking about a computer issue. After I helped him with it, he started in on the grilling:
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Hey, listen, you should find a nice nurse or a teacher or something. Someone who has an income and can help support the both of you."
"Yeah, ok, dad."
Now, most of you will probably realize that now that I'm into my 30s, my parents have been pressuring me to find a wife and have children. I've even asked them the importance of the order of those steps, and they responded, "Not really important." So it seems they're in a rush to have grandchildren--As I wrote about a while ago
, my Chinese name changed recently. While my original name was Hsiao Tze-Ming, last Thanksgiving my parents were all giddily calling me "Hsiao Ji-Ming! Hsiao Ji-Ming!" When I asked them why they were calling me that, they told me that a Chinese fortune-teller told them that both me and my brother should change our names for good luck*. After my brother read that post, he grilled my mom and dad and found out that "good luck" really translates to "a greater chance of having grandchildren for you."
So, I guess my father envisions me with some prim and proper woman with child-bearing hips and a high FICO score (come to think of it, I should put together a dating site like Match.com where one of the criteria you can sort by is FICO score...).
It occured to me yesterday, however, that the only non-professional or social places that I can find a nurse or a teacher with an income to help support the both of us are places that are named "The Pink Pony" or "The Alley Cat."
Well, they're mostly
dressed like nurses or teachers...
* My family has a sort of generational poem naming-convention. Each successive generation names their children with the next word in sequence of this poem--both my father and my aunt have the word "Shih" in their names. When my brother, the first-born son of his generation was born, my father went to his dad and asked him what the next word to use, and my grandfather said "Tze," which was wrong. It should have been "Ji," but the incorrect name has already propagated to our cousins, etc.
When my parents went to this fortune-teller, she asked if our names should really be Tze-Ming and Tze-Wei, and they said no, so she said to change it back to the way it should have been (at least my name doesn't have testicle
in it anymore...).