The matchmaker will be there

Part I
Even though my Grandother never negotiated a hard business deal in her life, or found herself on a table debating a complicated topic, she can somehow very easily manipulate me with her piercing eyes and defeaning stoicism, and make me do things I innately disagree with and find completely ridiculous.. Within her family kingdom, she is a grand queen in her own right. Her presence commands the respect of the masses, her fiery personality intimidates the empowered, and her sharp wit bites and persecutes the effusive.
Her voice, though low, is vociferous and oozing with power, often spewing orders at me ever so nonchalantly. When she demands, I deliver. When she beckons, I come runnin. And I'll be damned if I don't immediatley drop everything and anything I am in the middle of, or disregard my own opinion/thoughts in whatever matter she officiates when I rush off to her calling.
So when she called me the other day and authoritatively said "CD, be at my house at 7:30 sharp. Um flan, the matchmaker, will be there!" there was no room for whats, buts and excuses. There was no opportunity to express outrage. There was no point in arguing that my own parents met through love, and people are now meeting through the internet, and that this is an antiquated anachronistic method of marriage that I have no interest in pursuing.
The simple fact of the matter is this: I am to robotically prim myself, get dressed, apply make-up and prepare for an evening of being thoroughly inspected, brutally evaluated and biasedly ranked in the marriage scale of worthiness -by a third-party broker culturally known as the matchmaker.

The matchmaker will be there, she says.

Just what exactly am I supposed to do? I wondered as I daintily applied my mascara in front of the mirror.
Am I supposed to impress her?
Do I advertise myself to her?
Do I recite my resume?
What qualities am I supposed to supress/highlight?
Do I conceal my raging and often looked down upon chicken nugget syndrome ?
My instincts tell me to be myself, and keep it real, but society tells me to wear another face, and conform.

Part II
I arrived at my Grandmothers domain, the aroma of overpriced bukhoor instantly filling my senses.

Sit there, she tells me, smile delicately, pour coffee, tea and serve sweets. Don't be too quiet, she is here to see you and get to know you, not to converse with me.

What do I talk to her about?

Don't talk about work, or career ambitions, or travelling by yourself.

hmmm (half-jokingly) how about the world cup?

NO! She's an old lady CD, sports is not an appropriate topic. But she speaks French.

Ahhh....I see. A high -class matchmaker!

Of course she is!! She matched X couple and Y couple last year, and she is well-read.

(umm..who are x and y couples, Grandma?) I guess we can talk about French, languages in general, and literature?

Yes, whatever. Go put some blush on your cheeks dear child, your face is awfully yellow.