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Another Blonde Moment






If Mom were alive today, she’d kvell with glee:

I’ve been treated to dinner by a medical doctor.

Yes, a doctor. The stethoscope kind. A Jewish woman’s wet dream.

Not only that, he’s four years older than me, handsome, very fit with all his hair, intelligent, worldly, kind, generous and wealthy. And available.

There’s only one glitch. There’s always that one glitch.

He’s not Jewish.

Wait - that’s not it. Make that two glitches, for he's

gay.

Well, Mom would plotz if she only knew. Not for him being gay, but for the fact that once again, I met a wonderful man and the end result is not wearing a white gown going down the aisle.

Yet, I’m grateful. It simplifies matters. For we go out to eat and talk. Laugh mostly. I can be myself - as zany as I want to be.

I call that a brochah, a blessing.

Because he’s a medical doctor, I tell him gross stories and he doesn’t flinch. I make fart jokes and he doesn’t flinch. I told him about the time my dog pulled my used tampax out of the garbage can and ran around the house flinging it by the string in front of a first date. He laughs and joins in with stories of his own.

Earlier in the day, he stopped by the cafe where I fervently edited my new book. 

Bending down, he pulled something out of my hair. “What’s that?” he asked. Frequent readers of this blog know that I have overly kinky, curly, gnarly hair. Bugs, twigs, branches and jewelry often find their way to get tangled in the meshes.

Another friend leaned over. “Looks like toilet paper.”

“Toilet paper?” I groaned in abject humiliation and shame. “How’d that get there?” Really, I’ve no idea how that got there.

They laughed at my expense.

So, my form of humor was to greet my doctor friend that evening with a foot-long trail of toilet paper looped around my hair.

Politely, he didn’t say a thing until I said, “I think I’ve toilet paper in my hair.”

Of course, I then couldn’t stop laughing. The deep kind of laughter which got stuck in my body, making it painful to breathe. Finally, I stopped, wiping my eyes from the tears and said, “I guess I found that much more amusing than you.”

He said, “No, it was funny. Though not as funny as you thought it was.”

Which set me off roaring again. As you can tell, I can amuse myself for hours.

And the point of this blog post is...
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