Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

‘Don’t listen to your sister,’ Mum interrupts, flapping her arms about. ‘What does she know about getting married these days? Open—’

‘Don’t do it! You need to start how you mean to go on. He’s going to think you’re desperate and he can ask anything of you if you fill that thing in!’

‘No, he won’t, he’ll respect you for taking the time!’

Mum and Amina argue at the top of their voices while Yasmin tries to intervene to get them to calm down.

‘What’s a questionnaire?’ Nani asks, looking lost while she tries to keep up with the conversation.

Hands are flailing around as all four of them gesture wildly and carry on arguing. They’re doing my head in, so I open the attachment and try to tune them out.

1. Name:

2. Age:

3. Height:

4. Weight:

Excuse me?! How dare he ask how much I weigh? What’s it got to do with him? Am I a suitcase that has to be below a certain allowance?

Too busy staring at the questions in undisguised abhorrence, I don’t notice that the room has fallen silent and that they are all reading along with me.

‘Calm down,’ Mum quickly intervenes before I lose it completely. ‘It’s a fair question.’

‘Oh, really?’ I snap. ‘And I guess it’s fine for him to ask for my bra size as well?’

‘Toubah ostoghfiruallah!’ Nani exclaims, her wide eyes darting around the room in horror. ‘Ita kita mati rai? Is this man talking about undergarments?’

‘You’ve lost the plot, Mum,’ Amina spits, absolutely livid. ‘What is she? Cattle that’s being sold to the highest bidder?’

‘Let’s all just calm down,’ Mum implores weakly. ‘The rest may be less .?.?.’ I watch her face contort as she struggles to find the correct word.

‘Intrusive?’ Yasmin offers.

‘Obnoxious?’ Amina counters.

‘Invasive?’ I add.

With a sigh, Mum lets her sentence hang limply and we continue to read the questions.

5. Occupation:

6. What do you do in your spare time?

7. Please describe what you are looking for in a husband.

8. Please describe yourself in six words.

9. How many children do you want?

10. On a scale of 1 to 10, please rate your religiousness.

‘Rate my religiousness?’ I scoff. ‘How does a person rate how religious they are? What am I supposed to do? Add a mark because I eat halal food, another because I fast, another because I wear modest clothes, but deduct one for not praying five times a day?’

‘Knock off another point for not wearing hijab,’ Amina adds, unhelpfully. I feel the vein that occasionally pops up on my neck throb in rage.

Angry tears well up in my eyes. I can’t believe what I’m putting myself through for a man who is barely attractive and walks around with a stethoscope round his neck, when he’s not a doctor! I can’t believe that there are men out there that think it’s OK to send intrusive questionnaires to a woman they haven’t even met. But worst of all, I can’t believe I’m entertaining this. I have officially crossed the line from anxious to desperate.