By the time the weekend rolled around, I had crossed #2: HONEST, #18: EMOTIONALLY STABLE, #22: MATURE, and #30: SENSIBLE off my mental list. I was thoroughly exhausted and my emotions were drained. I decided, for my own mental health, to take a couple of days off and resume my mission on Monday.

Sleeping in past noon and binge-watching old episodes of Project Runway was the perfect remedy. Just when I was beginning to feel slightly replenished, my mother barged into my room on Sunday morning and asked if I could drive her to her friend Yasmeen aunty’s house for lunch.

“Why can’t you drive there on your own?” I asked, yawning.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you, is that too much to ask?” my mother said, looking hurt. “Every day you are out, out, out. We don’t even see you for dinner anymore.”

I sighed. Doesn’t she realize that she is the one to blame for that? I thought, pulling off the covers. Spending time with my mother was definitely not what the doctor prescribed, but I reluctantly agreed. After having a whole day to myself, I figured some fresh air might help get my mind off the Shakespearean tragedy my life had become.

On the drive to Yasmeen aunty’s house, my mother attempted to cheer me up with her version of small talk.

“So, did you hear that Meena is engaged?” she began. I cringed. Meena was my first cousin on my mother’s side. She was two years younger than me, and even though she lived in India, my mother had felt the need to share with me all of Meena’s accomplishments over the past twenty-something years.

“Meena was named captain of the badminton team at her school. Isn’t that wonderful!” my mother coincidentally mentioned a week after I told her I wanted to quit tennis my junior year of high school. “Meena is studying engineering,” I learned after I announced to my parents that I was no longer considering law school but, instead, wanted to get my teaching credentials. Although I had never met Meena in person, I knew more about her than I frankly cared to through these snippets of information thrown my way. As a kid, I’d hated the mention of Meena’s name because I knew whatever followed would be another reminder of how she had one-upped me for the millionth time. Therefore, it was no shock that she had also managed to get engaged—like the perfect Indian daughter—before me.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I said pretending to sound interested. I often wondered what it would feel like to be the Meena of my family. To just once do something that my mother would be proud of. But no matter how hard I tried, I always seemed to disappoint her. In my defense, things never quite worked in my favor. It seemed as though there was only room for one Meena in the universe, and the position was filled. I silently prayed that the barrage of lackluster dates from the past few weeks along with my impending deadline would not result in yet another major disappointment.