She’s a pretty special lady. A real lady, the kind who looks immaculate in a jogging suit (but never wears one in public), and never leaves the house with a hair out of place. She also always smells awesome.
She always has a manicure, her hair perfectly coiffed, and I’m still surprised that she never took over the world (there’s still time though).
While she doesn’t work a real job, she still has an excellent work ethic and somehow makes me feel loved and lazy whilst on holiday. She gets up and cooks, then goes off to exercise, and takes excellent care of herself and her family all the time. It’s a point of pride for her. She is also a fabulous bridge player.
Even though I didn’t grow up in their house, the house that she and my grandfather and uncle live in always feels like home. I call their house “Little Baghdad” because even though they live on a quiet suburban street, entering their home is like entering a new country, with a different language, smells and customs.
She is an amazing cook. Every time I tell myself I will watch myself and eat less, but I find it impossible. I’ve even eaten her food through nausea (and then suddenly didn’t feel sick anymore). She can also skins chicken and keep the skin in one piece. She’s an artist, and her canvas is my plate.
She is pretty good at using the Internet too. She has bridge buddies all over the world and calls her siters in England and Israel all the time. This is also how she knows what’s happening in my life sometimes before I know, because her network is so tight that nothing gets past her.
She might have difficulty hearing, but that lady is so sharp. If my hair is a bit greasy, if my clothes are a bit wrinkled, she will know. And she will tell me.
Even though she has been trying to get me married since I turned 16, I understand now that it’s her way of trying to make sure I will live happily and comfortably. It’s cause she cares! *grits teeth*
Here’s is one of my favourite stories about her, as she is a badass, and nobody’s doormat:
A couple of years ago, my brother and I went to New York on our own to attend the Bar Mitzvah of our younger cousin. We took a taxi into the city to attend the services and she was very unhappy with the route the driver took. Also, let me point out that she detailed the route she wanted him to take in the first place.
Once he took the wrong route, that was the end of it. She didn’t curse him out, but she may as well have. I wouldn’t be surprised if that guy’s ears were still red at the verbal lashing she gave him. She definitely didn’t take the error sitting down (figuratively, naturally). She even had the driver pay the tolls himself, since she had initially requested a route without tolls!
Anyway, these are some of a million reasons why she is lovely. And she is damned good at laying on the guilt to visit more often. I’m already trying to figure it out, but in the meantime I’ll keep emailing!