Day 2 of the 'Rents Invade Israel went something like this:
[8 PM the previous evening]
Dadz: We should go out to breakfast tomorrow! You and me and Momz!
Gila: Great idea! I love breakfast! And I love you, and Momz, and tomorrow. Let's put them all together and serve them with warm crusty bread!
[Everyone goes to sleep. I wake up at 3:30, in a sweaty panic that the camp shirt I got for Ariella is too big. Seriously. I worry about the strangest things. Also, while we're here, in the italicized brackets, I would like to put something up for discussion. Donny claims that the apartment is too noisy at night. He sleeps cocooned under his blankets - yes, in the plural - with an extra sheet over his head as an additional sound barrier. And yet he still complains that the tiny Hyundai Getz tooling down Sderot Chashmonaim in the middle of the night wakes him up. And YET, when a child is bawling outside our room - and sometimes even INSIDE - he will not so much as stir. Not only that, in the morning, while recounting every car and truck that went by, he will have only a hazy memory of said hysterical child. "Oh yes," he will mutter vaguely, "there was something in the middle of the night. What happened?" Oh, only your 3 year old, covered in puke and sobbing wildly into my ears. Nothing so terrible as a CAR, of course.]
Where were we? Oh yes, breakfast.
Donny: Why aren't you exercising this morning?
Gila: [brightly] Oh, no time, Momz and Dadz and I are going out for breakfast.
[Donny is jealous. Gila takes kids to gan, returns home, and starts doing random household chores that are too boring to recount here. Any second, she is sure, the 'rents will awaken and it will be time for BREAKFAST!]
Gila: Well, it's 9:00. Maybe I'll do a little work. [Sounds of the keyboard clicking away.]
Gila: Hmmm, it's 10:00. I'll do some laundry, get it in before they wake up and we go out.
Gila: Well, it's 11:00. Hmmm....I really have some errands I need to run.
Gila: It's 11:20. I'm off. The 'rents owe me breakfast.
[Gila runs errands, returns around 12:15. Parents are in pajamas, Momz at the computer, Dadz meandering around the living room with a dazed look on his face.]
Gila: You owe me breakfast.
Momz: What's today?
Dadz: Is there rugelach?
In exciting Dimri news....
This week, a sign went up in the elevators that there was going to be...wait for it...a Building Six Shavuot Party! Ok, let it out....YIPPEEE-KIE-FREAKIN'-YAY!!!!
There were sign up sheets in the elevators with a list of food. We were supposed to sign our name and apartment number next to the food item we wanted to bring. One problem that many of you are already foreseeing is that there are two elevators. So what if you sign up for a half kilo of cheese borekas in Small Elevator, but someone else already signed up for the same half kilo of cheese borekas in Big Elevator! It can lead to nothing but tragedy, to be sure! Probably the Va'ad was thinking that the husband and wife would tag team, each riding a different elevator at precisely the same time, in order to "chap" [ed. note - read that with an Israeli "ch" sound] the food item they wanted. However, the problem turned out to be the reverse. As of today - the day of the party - the party was likely to consist of 6 melons and a bottle of coke. And to think we're missing the fun!
As promised, we will also discuss poll results. 35% of our voters (17 voters in all- now if there are 22 readers who claim loyalty, shouldn't there be a minimum of 22 votes? Hmmmm? HMMMM??) claim they do, in fact, post comments, and are waiting for their mugs. 29% do not want us to know what they were thinking, which of course means I'm DYING to know what they're thinking. 17% have nothing to say, and another 17% are waiting for the VP of Tech Support to return their calls.
Now, for those of you who are waiting for their mugs, I have good news! I just deputized our VP of Tech Support to become our VP of Customer Service and Mugs! Dadz - are you reading this? You've been promoted! Dadz, Dadz, I'm down here! You've minimized your screen - see, I'm on the bottom. Click on me, Dadz - come back! D-A-A-A-A-A-A- [Dadz closed the window. Now no one can see the blog. Darn]
The T-Shirt Paradox
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