As I was running across the street Thursday evening, an old woman in a van drove past me and yelled out the window, “Do you want a shidduch?”
I shook my head. This woman looked scary.
“The way you were running you could run for president of the United States,” she said.
Pointing at her young chubby passenger (apparently her daughter), she said, “I’m looking for a shidduch for this one.”
The girl looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I said and ran on.