I think I've got your number

Our apartment is falling down. I'm choosing to find it funny.

Monday, April 11, 2005


Two eagle-eyed readers have pointed out that I confused Ruth Gordon with Bea Arthur in a previous entry. I'm worried that Gloria might be turning me into an ageist, someone so opposed to little old white-haired women that I think they all look the same. I do find myself narrowing my eyes at anyone on the subway platform in orthopedic shoes. Sometimes I suspect that the Walter-shaped men ambling up the local sidewalks are being that slow on purpose.

But the worst was a dinner I had two weeks ago with an elderly relative, a rabbi who was born in Hungary. He's as wise and kind as a very old religious figure ought to be, but every time he opened his mouth, I expected him to deprive me of half my monthly salary and then deny me my right to a hot shower. He explained the Talmudic interpretation of the Terry Schiavo case, and all I heard was "Is fine temperature! If shower is hot, you burn yourself! You are so young, you do not know: is better like this."


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