Ascots are HOT
moral of this blog: So am I.
A Jew walks into a church....
I know you've all be on shpilkes (pins & needles) waiting for me to tell you the rest of my story.
I guess this was the first time I ever felt like I knew how Ethyl Rosenberg felt. I was obviously not "one of them". As we entered the very croweded Saturday mass, each member of my boyfriends family genuflected and made the sign of the cross before we entered our pew. The first red flag to the devout catholics that they were being infiltrated.
Even to the most untrained eye, I failed the second test of calisthenics which was composed of standing sitting standing sitting, and the occasional flip down of the kneeler. I looked a bit confused, and I'm sure the people around me noticed.
I was surprised to see a basket passed around and people were putting money in it. A bit different than the yearly due I pay (exchanging money on shabbos (sabbath) is a no-no), and is a bit different than the pushkeh (a poor box, kept in the kitchen, you put change in it for the less fortunate and donate it after a while) that I'm used to. But I digress
Then I was outed. Communion happened, and I sat in the pew with my legs to one side to let all the shiksahs and shkootzim (non-Jewish women & men) passed me by casting glances in my direction, like some szhlob (moron) who forgot his manners.
Then after "passing the peace", which consisted of shaking hands of thousands of random people, everything was done, spare the christening.
This was a 15 minute procedure that subjected the beautiful baby swaddled in vintage whites to having water poured on her head, and oil being rubbed on her forhead by the priest, her parents, and her G-d parents. Some prayers, a candle was lit, and voila...a baby promised into a good catholic up bringing.
This was followed by a dinner party for 40 at my boyfriends brothers house. Lots of good food and wine, but oddly I only had one glass.
At 2 a.m. I was awakened by my very ill boyfriend. The stomach flu had taken him by storm. I played nurse maid, and we left the hotel and headed to the airport. At 2:45 pm, at 32,000 feet, the stomach flu had become a part of my world. We took turns at the next layover watching luggage while we made trips back and forth to the mens room. When we landed, we still had a 3 hour drive home ahead of us (we flew out of another city to save money on the flight). I was sick for 2 more days, surviving only on saltines, matzo balls and chicken broth. I have never been so oysgeshpilt (worn out) in my entire life.
Moral of this blog: Thats the whole megillah (long story).