A Project Called Rosie

Five

I was inside the front door of a suburban home that made me think of the brick-veneered home my parents had in Shepparton. The questionnaire helped me avoid the agony of unstructured social interaction with strangers, even though I had vowed to never go to another singles party.

I handed out questionnaires to each of the female guests as they arrived, asking them to fill them out at their convenience and return them to me in person or by mail. Initially, the female host invited me to join the group in the living room, but after I explained my plan, she left me alone. Two hours later, a woman in her mid-thirties with a BMI of twenty-one came back from the living room with two glasses of sparkling wine. She held a questionnaire in her other hand.

I received a glass from her. "I thought you might be thirsty," she said in an attractive French accent.

Even though I didn't have a thirst, I appreciated the offer of alcohol. I had made the decision that I would not stop drinking until I had a non-drinking partner. And after some introspection, I had come to the conclusion that the answer to the question about drinking was (c) moderately, and I had made a note to update the questionnaire.

'Thank you. "I hoped she would give me the survey because it might, improbably, mean the end of my search. She was very lovely, and her gesture with the wine revealed a high level of consideration that neither the host nor the other guests displayed.

"You are a researcher, am I right?" She tapped the questionnaire.

"Correct. ".

"Me, too," she replied. There aren't many academics here tonight. My evaluation of the visitors was in line with this observation, despite the fact that it is risky to make judgments about people based solely on their behavior and conversation topics.

She introduced herself as "Fabienne" and held out her free hand, which I shook gently but firmly as per protocol. This wine is awful, don't you think?

I concurred. It was a sweet carbonated wine that was only acceptable due to its alcohol content.

You believe we ought to visit a wine bar and order something better?" she questioned.

I gave a headshake. The subpar wine was annoying but not a deal breaker.

Inhaling deeply, Fabienne. "Listen. I've had two glasses of wine, been without s*x for six weeks, and I'd prefer to wait another six weeks before trying anyone else here. Now, may I purchase you a beverage?

The offer was very generous. The evening had not yet fully arrived, though. More visitors are anticipated, I said. If you wait, you might find the right person. ".

I assume you will notify the winners in due course, Fabienne said as she handed me her survey. I assured her that I would. I quickly reviewed her survey after she had left. She fell short in a number of ways, as was to be expected. It was depressing.

I decided to try speed dating, which was my last non-Internet option.

The location of the event was a hotel function room. I insisted that the convenor let me know the exact start time, and I waited there until then to avoid wasting time in small talk. When I came back, I sat down at the last available seat at a long table next to a woman named Frances, who was about fifty years old, had a BMI of about twenty-eight, and was not particularly attractive.

My three minutes with Frances began when the convenor rang a bell.

There was no time for subtlety in the circumstances, so I took out my questionnaire and wrote her name on it.

I said, "I've arranged the questions for quickest possible elimination. In less than forty seconds, I think I can get rid of the majority of women. The topic of conversation for the remaining time is then your choice. ".

However, it won't matter at that point, Frances argued. "I'll be out of the running. ".

"Only as a possible partner. We might still be able to have a stimulating conversation. ".

I'll have been eliminated, though. ”.

I nodded. Are you a smoker?

“Occasionally,” she said.

I put the questionnaire away.

“Excellent. ” I was pleased that my question sequencing was working so well. We could have wasted time talking about ice-cream flavors and makeup only to find that she smoked. Needless to say, smoking was not negotiable. “No more questions. What would you like to discuss?”.

Disappointingly, Frances was not interested in further conversation after I had determined that we were not compatible. This turned out to be the pattern for the remainder of the event.

These personal interactions were, of course, secondary. I was relying on the Internet, and completed questionnaires began to flow in shortly after my initial postings. I scheduled a review meeting in my office with Gene.

“How many responses?” he asked.

“Two hundred and seventy-nine. ”.

He was clearly impressed. I did not tell him that the quality of responses varied widely, with many questionnaires only partially completed.

“No photos?”.

Many women had included photos, but I had suppressed them in the database display to allow space for more important data.

“Let’s see the photos,” Gene said.

I modified the settings to show photos, and Gene scanned a few before double-clicking on one. The resolution was impressive. It seemed that he approved, but a quick check of the data showed that the candidate was totally unsuitable. I took the mouse back and deleted her. Gene protested.

“Wha wha wha? What’re you doing?”.

“She believes in astrology and homeopathy. And she calculated her BMI incorrectly. ”.

“What was it?”.

“Twenty-three point five. ”.

“Nice. Can you undelete her?”.

“She’s totally unsuitable. ”.

“How many are suitable?” asked Gene, finally getting to the point.

“So far, zero. The questionnaire is an excellent filter. ”.

“You don’t think you’re setting the bar just a tiny bit high?”.

I pointed out that I was collecting data to support life’s most critical decision. Compromise would be totally inappropriate.

“You always have to compromise,” Gene said. An incredible statement and totally untrue in his case.

“You found the perfect wife. Highly intelligent, extremely beautiful, and she lets you have s*x with other women. ”.

Gene suggested that I not congratulate Claudia in person for her tolerance, and asked me to repeat the number of questionnaires that had been completed. The actual total was greater than the number I had told him, as I had not included the paper questionnaires. Three hundred and four.

“Give me your list,” said Gene. “I’ll pick a few out for you. ”.

“None of them meet the criteria. They all have some fault. ”.

“Treat it as practice. ”.

He did have a point. I had thought a few times about Olivia the Indian Anthropologist and considered the implications of living with a Hindu vegetarian with a strong ice-cream preference. Only reminding myself that I should wait until an exact match turned up had stopped me from contacting her. I had even rechecked the questionnaire from Fabienne the s*x-Deprived Researcher.

I emailed the spreadsheet to Gene.

“No smokers. ”.

“Okay,” said Gene, “but you have to ask them out. To dinner. At a proper restaurant. ”.

Gene could probably tell that I was not excited by the prospect. He cleverly addressed the problem by proposing an even less acceptable alternative.

“There’s always the faculty ball. ”.

“Restaurant. ”.

Gene smiled as if to compensate for my lack of enthusiasm. “It’s easy. ‘How about we do dinner tonight?’ Say it after me. ”.

“How about we do dinner tonight?” I repeated.

“See, that wasn’t so hard. Make only positive comments about their appearance. Pay for the meal. Do not mention s*x. ” Gene walked to the door, then turned back. “What about the paper ones?”.

I gave him my questionnaires from Table for Eight, the singles party, and, at his insistence, even the partially completed ones from the speed dating. Now it was out of my hands.