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When I would go all Bollywood and dream about my future husband, hair is just something I assumed he’d have. We haven’t swapped pictures, so who knows what the rest of this boy will look like. Part of me isn’t ready to swap photos. I’m enjoying getting to know him as a person. I don’t want to be disappointed or have him be disappointed when he sees me. For the first time, I’m talking to someone and it feels natural, not forced. We just click.
It also appears that our paths have potentially crossed before. During one of our many conversations, I bring up the subject of dating and the rishtaa process. He’s made a couple of home visits of his own and chowed down on samosas lovingly prepared by some prospective mother-in-law. He’s also had a few dates in London via the website we found each other on. But more interestingly, he tried his luck at the thinly veiled marriage events in Manchester.
“I’ve not been to any for a while,” he says. “The last one I attended was when I came up north last summer, so it’s been nearly a year. They’re not really my thing, to be honest with ya. The girls were stuck up and the organiser seemed to be a bit of a knob. He kept promoting himself throughout the event. I guess he wanted first dibs on all the girls there, even though he hid his intentions under the banner of charity.”
“But doesn’t everyone hide their true intentions in this hunting game? I mean... hold on... I think we were at the same event!”
After the penny drops, we compare notes.
I have to share my most important feedback. “I also thought it was crap but the food was good. Every cloud and all that.”
He laughs. “Small world. It’s a good thing we didn’t meet there. I had other things on my mind. Food-based things. I think I ate about three kebabs. You wouldn’t have looked twice.”
With my buffet-raiding ways, it was no surprise that he didn’t make a beeline for me, either. Plus I was too busy checking out the pharmacist, though I’ll keep that bit of info to myself. From this conversation, I’ve established that we’re both greedy gits who prioritise food over fundamentals such as finding a life partner. With so much in common, does hair really matter? In all honesty, I don’t know. When I made my comprehensive list of what I could and couldn’t compromise on, baldness wasn’t something I’d even factored in.
I consult Julia. She’s just so excited that I’m finally talking to someone I like. And she can’t believe I’m on an online dating site. She’s always been worried that I’d fall into a marriage of convenience and miss out on the things she takes for granted, such as date nights and holidays. Equally, she thinks it’s mad that I’ve been chatting to him for nearly a month and I don’t even know what he looks like.
“But aren’t you intrigued? What if you meet in person and he’s ugly? You haven’t got the best poker face,” she says.
She knows me far too well. I used to always give the game away when we played Chase the Ace in school.
“I know but it’s kind of nice. We’ve got to know each other without being superficial. It’s the opposite of swapping biodata, where the photo is the first thing you see. But having this bit of info on him has kind of thrown me. I’m now being a shallow cow which is precisely what I didn’t want to be!”
Julia’s advice is sensible enough: “Why don’t you meet him quite soon. Then you’ll know if you like him or not. If you don’t, then no worries. You’ll easily meet someone else. The main thing is you’re getting yourself out there. You’re on the bloody World Wide Web! I never thought I’d see the day!”
I ponder her point: You’ll easily meet someone else. But I don’t want to meet anyone else.
I speak to Sophia for a second opinion. She thinks the lack of hair is insignificant. “I’ve always said this - looks fade but a good personality stays. So who cares if he’s bald? Most men end up that way, anyway. If that’s the only fault you’ve uncovered so far then I wouldn’t write him off.”
I sort of agree. “It’s just not something I’d thought about. I don’t even know what my mum and family will think if my future husband doesn’t have any hair.”
Sophia huffs. At six months pregnant, I’m sure the last thing she has time for is my procrastination. “Well, it’s a good thing he’s not marrying your mum then!” She almost shrieks.
The hormones are making her even more forthright. “Hon, when it comes to finding the right person, attraction grows. If they’re kind and you click, then before you know it, you’ll fancy the pants off them. But don’t let this online relationship drag on. Try and meet him quite soon. That way you’ll know whether you have the same rapport in person that you do on the phone.”
Sophia is right, mostly. I need to meet this boy pronto, just to put my mind at rest that he’s not a complete gargoyle. Though I don’t fully agree with her point about looks not mattering at all. A bald head might be acceptable, so long as he’s not a total troll.