'He's the one I am to marry', she said. Passing around photo of the man her parents had chosen for her, among her friends. 'That's him in the striped blue shirt' she said needlessly. The photo had only him leaning awkwardly against a wall. His striped shirt was not the first thing her friends noticed about his appearance. They saw his thinning hair, his average build, his forced smile, his strikingly painful ordinariness. The group slipped into a deeply introspective mode. It seemed like all their fantasy knights had been felled in a single swoop by this mild, middle-aged man who looked like the kind you would buy insurance policies from. Or ask directions to the library from. The group remained silent for an embarrassingly long time before someone observed, 'he reminds me of a man who once helped carry my suitcase up the stairs in a railway station.' Everyone nodded vigorously. As if helping young women carry heavy luggage was what good husbands were made of.