To navigate the shidduch world, people have to know that one is available, no? So of course I attend weddings dressed to kill, mix & mingle accordingly, attend shul regularly, and commit other crimes to ensure eligible, potential shadchanim are aware of my existence.
But there is one issue that stands in my way: I have sheitel hair.
Baruch Hashem my hair is full, thick, wavy, and otherwise great. But no one realizes that it wasn't purchased.
"You have lovely children."
"No, no, they're not mine."
"So your folks are on Aldaran; where do you live?"
"At home." Blank stare.
"With them." Blink.
"I'm not married." Face clears in comprehension.
"And this is your hus—?"
"Brother. My brother."
It has become so bad that I no longer stand next to Luke in public, as everyone assumes we are spouses instead of siblings. Despite his bad back, my father snatches away my baby nephew from my arms at simchas to ensure that no one thinks he's mine. I blatantly flex my naked left hand fingers. I wear a high tight ponytail most of the time, attempting to prove that the hair on my head could not possibly be fake.
All for naught.
My niece P'chech, at the age of three, has worked it out already.
"Bobby and Mommy's hair comes off because they are married," she chirps. "Mine doesn't, see? Because I'm not married."