Reader Comment and Are You Jewish?

First, I just want to start off by saying thank you to my many fans who religiously read this blog. I would also like to highlight one email I received this week: "I was gratified to see that Stalin became Gorby, a much nicer figure, at least towards the end of his career when he redirected the Soviet Union and as a viable Soviet partner to Reagan.  Also a Nobel Peace prize winner (which meant more before Obama)."  Thanks Mom! I am consistently proud that I am the just about the only Jewish woman in my age bracket with Republican parents. It brings a tear to my eye. Now we are moving on.


So Big Shot Husband has had several assistants and/or interns over the years. They were from a variety of ethnic backgrounds but shared many traits in common: young, ivy-league, preppy, upper-middle-class, sufficiently sycophantic to Big Shot Husband. And invariably over the years, we have invited said assistants and/or interns to our house or out to dinner to meet our adorable children, show our appreciation for a job well done, or just to see what they're made of.


This summer, Big Shot Husband has had an intern. He has been somewhat unsure about his relationship with said intern, let's call him Sanjay, the entire time. He hasn't really been raving about him like with his last intern and I started to get the feeling that maybe this Sanjay was not sufficiently deferential to Big Shot Husband. Tonight was the night I was to meet Sanjay and see what was going on.


It was 100 degrees. We pulled up to kosher fusion pizzeria/falafel/Mexican (yes, really) place that is one of our favorites since we only have about 4.3 kosher restaurants from which to choose around here. Sanjay was waiting outside. In 100 degrees. I instantly wondered about his common sense quotient. Turned out, it didn't matter because the restaurant apparently didn't get the memo that it was 100 degrees outside and didn't turn on the air conditioning. But he was sufficiently preppy, ivy-league, cool glasses, the whole nine (yes, I know people don't say that anymore).


The entire meal consisted of this:
Gorby (4 year old son), "Sanjay, are you Jewish?"
Sanjay, "No."
Gorby, "Are you Jewish?"
Sanjay, "No."
Me, "So Sanjay, what extracurriculars do you do?" (Me, to self, What am I, 100?)
Sanjay, "I do. . ."
Interrupted by Gorby, "Sanjay, are you Jewish? Sanjay, I love you."
Nervous laugh by Sanjay.
"Sanjay, you laugh a lot," I don't have to tell you who said that.
The other three kids ate like they'd never seen food before and all Sanjay got was two small pieces of pizza. And no air conditioning.


We get in the car after dropping Sanjay at the public transit with the kids yelling out the windows, "Bye Sanjay!! Bye!! Are you Jewish?!! (no not really)."  Big Shot Husband says, "You know, I just feel like something was a little off with our relationship this whole summer. I don't think Sanjay liked being my intern." "Yes," I said, "I got that feeling, he didn't seem to have the awed expression most of your interns get while in your general vicinity.  And Gorby certainly didn't help seal the deal." Big Shot Husband says, "Yeah, and while you were in the bathroom with Eva, I handed him the stack of assignments I want him to do this week and he said, 'Oh, thanks, you really didn't have to...' because he thought I was giving him a present." Um, AWKWARD. "I thought the two pieces of pizza he ate tonight WAS the present," said Big Shot Husband. That, as well as a taste of Gorby's advanced interrogation techniques.