“So, let’s see. I’m an only child,” I began, “however, I do have a ton of cousins and relatives . . . well, you’re Indian, so I’m sure you can relate . . .”

“Actually,” he interrupted, “I meant more like your family medical history.”

“Huh?”

“Are there any medical problems in your family? Like cancer, heart disease, high blood pressure, chronic flatulence?”

“Um,” I replied, trying to ignore the fact that he’d just mentioned flatulence in my presence. “I suppose none of the above. Although I do have an uncle on my dad’s side who is known to spit excessively when he talks. I don’t know if that’s considered a medical problem, but he should definitely get that checked out.”

“I see,” he said, clearly not amused by my lack of seriousness. “So what about you? Do you have any allergies or conditions?”

“Conditions? Oh God, not that I know of. Why, what did you hear?” I asked, feigning concern. While I suffered from bouts of intermittent asthma, I figured it was in my best interest to withhold any information that might cause Anwar alarm.

“Nothing. Well, what about your habits? Do you smoke, drink, or partake in any . . . uh, how shall I phrase this . . . recreational drugs?” he asked, shooting a quick glance toward my spring break photo collage. Although I was not as religiously conservative as my parents, I did manage to steer clear of cigarettes and alcohol. The cigarettes were primarily due to my mild asthmatic symptoms, and the alcohol owed to a single incident back in college when I accidentally downed two bottles of Mike’s hard lemonade during a barbecue and ended up vomiting for thirty-six consecutive hours. If that was my punishment for going against the religious teachings imparted on me in Sunday school, then it worked, because any desire I once had to drink instantly disappeared after that weekend. In terms of recreational drugs, aside from the snorts of Flonase I was known to inhale every now and then, most of my activities were pretty halal.

“No.” I rolled my eyes, not willing to provide any further explanation. This was definitely not going in the direction I had expected. At this rate, it would only be a matter of time before Anwar asked me about my next menstrual cycle. If there was ever a place for an out, this was it.

“Maybe we should make our way back to the living room,” I suggested as graciously as I could.

“Oh, but I still have a few more questions for you,” Anwar replied eagerly.

“As much fun as I’ve had with this brief consultation, I think that’s about all the questions my insurance covers.” I smiled. “Besides, I think the other six members of our date might be waiting for us,” I added, feeling a sense of relief as I finally saw him get up. I shut the bedroom door behind us, and we made our way down the hall. I couldn’t help but think that if this was the caliber of potential grooms available, then this process was definitely going to be a lot more painful than I had predicted. What had I gotten myself into?