Jewish grandmothers...

10:00 am
I’m woken up the sound of knocking. Incessant, loud knocking on my apartment door that could only mean one thing - it’s my grandmother. The loud noise of her knuckles rapping against the wood can be distinguished from anyone else. Her knock yells, “I’m important. And I’m not waiting.”
I open the door, dressed in ratty boxers and an old tank top.
Her sharp eyes take me in judgingly. She, of course, is dressed in a dark red pantsuit and made up perfectly, not a wrinkle in sight. At 78 years old, she makes me look like a slob.
It’s then that my eyes are drawn to the bright orange shopping bags at her feet. She sees my eyes glaze over, and starts in on me -
“PAULA. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN IT YET.”
If anything can make me weak in the knees, it’s not the sight of a Jewish boy, or even the small of half priced Lancome cosmetics. It’s the knowledge that my Jewish grandmother has made yet another purchase from Big Bertha. Big Bertha, to bring you up to speed, is a huge superstore that specializes in selling absolute crap to Jewish people that think they’re getting a good deal. Their Jewish senses tingle when they come within 5 feet of the store - bright displays that advertise 20 cent (probably broken) flashlights, 25 cent underwear that feels like it’s made of paper, and 30 cent picture frames that crack when you touch them. Simply put, it’s Jewish logic - do you need it? No. But how can you resist it when it’s so cheap?! It’s Jewish grandmothers like my own that have kept Big Bertha in business from the day the first Jew crossed into Brooklyn waters.
“Grandmother, I’m sure whatever you have, I don’t need it. In fact, I will refund you whatever money you spent on the ridiculous shenanigan that’s -”
“PAULA. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN IT YET.”
“Grandma,” I take a different approach, “I appreciate that you’re so kind as to think of me. And really, I’m sure it’s very beautiful! In fact, don’t you think it’s even more suited for ..“ My eyes dart around my apartment nervously before landing on my little sister, who’s doing her homework on the living room couch,“…Your kind and compassionate granddaughter, Esther?”
Esther, the kind and compassionate granddaughter, shoots me a look that could melt the face off a snowman.
“Paula, don’t be silly,” she lowers her voice a little, “Esther KNOWS that YOU’RE my favorite granddaughter.”
Fuck. Cornered by my own amazingness. Before I could refuse whatever horror my grandmother purchased this time, - last time, it was a pair of bright green socks (15 cents!) and the time before that, a bottle of highlighter yellow nail polish (30 cents!) - she opens the bag and brings out something even I was ill-prepared for.
Ladies and gentlemen, let me compose a quick list of things you do NOT want your Jewish grandmother to bring out of her vermillion orange bag.
Number 3 is a pair of bright green socks.
Number 2 is a cracked bottle of highlighter yellow nail polish.
And topping the list, at number one?
A bathing suit featuring a leopard print…in Big Bertha’s signature colors, vermillion orange and puke green.
I feel my face turning the latter color, just as my grandmother pulls something even more atrocious from her own bag.
In case you were wondering, what's can even come close to being worse than an orange and green leopard print bathing suit?
Two orange and green leopard print bathing suits.
“TA-DA!” she shrieks, “WE CAN MATCH!”
And that is how I know I have been tricked, once more, by my evil Jewish grandmother.
“Grandmother,” I say in a very quiet voice that I save for occasions when I am faced with life or death situations, “I…I…”
I should have known to stop, right then and there. Jewish grandmothers, particularly Russian ones, are famous for their art of deception. That, and their matzo ball soup.
Right in front of me, my grandmother ‘s composure changes from a fierce lioness in a pantsuit to an orphaned puppy in rags.
“Paula,” she tells me in a sad, tiny voice, “I am an old woman. I don’t have much longer to live. All I’m asking of you is that you do this one small favor for me. For your grandmother. Who changed your diapers countless times for you when you were younger. Who walked a mile to pick you up from school every day for 4 years. Who just paid for your summer vacation. All I’m asking is that you and I wear matching bathing suits to the YMCA…” Her gaze drops to the floor and her lip quivers. She could put a bratty six year old’s puppy eyes to shame.
“I .. I…” My response is lost as I make eye contact with her quivering lips.

And that’s how I came to be where I am now, staring sadly at the bright orange bathing suit that is currently hanging limply on a velvet hanger in the back of my closet.

SuperJew Girl gets the Boy.

Assignment: Create a Superhero alterego based loosely on your own life.

Superjew Girl’s quest to find a nice Jewish Boy
Superjew awoke to the buzzing of her loud, obnoxious alarm clock.
“Shut up, fershtinkiner,” she screeched, swapping at it. With a loud yawn, she got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, scrutinizing the reflection that greeted her. Her tight brown curls were matted down on the side of her head that she had slept on, and there was a pimple on the right side of her grandiose nose. She swept some foundation on and said a quick prayer to Adonai that, with all the amazing scientific discoveries being made on a daily basis, somebody would figure out a way to make schnoz appear smaller than it was. Superjew Girl, or SG for short, was positive that Jewish people all over the world would be very thankful for this miraculous invention. With one last look in the mirror, SG made her way to the kitchen for breakfast.
“Ay, SG,” her mother said, serving her an omelet, “If only you were a berryer like your sister, I wouldn’t have to make you breakfast. How are you going to marry a nice jewish boy when you can’t even make yourself a meal? He will leave you for a good jewish woman who will make him latkes at 2 in the morning. Even nudniks have a better chance at a marriage than you. Oy, vey. What am I going to do with you?”
As her mother prattled on, SG quickly scarfed down the omelet. She loved to argue, but not with her mother. The woman had 30 more years of practice, and SG had witnessed firsthand how her mother had worn down her father on many an occasion with her nagging. Sheesh, it was like nagging was her mother’s superpower.“Now, don’t forget to call me the moment you get on the train, the moment you get off the train, as soon as you get back the scores on your math test, right after you take your history test, right before you buy your lunch, after you’ve eaten your lunch, as soon as you finish the school day, as soon as Jewish Club ends, as soon as you’ve used the bathroom, as soon as you get outside school, and as soon as you get off the train. And bundle up in a nice sweater, it’s 70 degrees Fahrenheit outside and I don’t want you to catch a cold! Fershtay?” her mother asked, and SG nodded as if she had been paying attention the whole time.“Good, good,” her mother said, kissing her on the cheek and passing her 5 dollars for lunch. “Don’t forget that you owe me a quarter from 2 weeks ago,” her mother warned.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was lunchtime, and SG was starved. It was time to put her superpower, the ability to sniff out bargains within a 5 mile radius, to the test. She stood on the corner of Chambers and Church and inhaled the scents of Manhattan. It had rained the day before, and the air smelled fragrant. Further smelling uncovered that Portobello’s was selling 2 slices of pizza and a coke for 5 dollars, but Subway had 5 dollar subs for sale. Using her keen math senses, SG quickly calculated that Subway sandwiches had a greater mass, and therefore she got more food for her money. Smelled like a deal! SG patted her nose for a job well done.SG entered the establishment, wrinkling her nose at the odor of bacon. It weakened her ability to sniff out bargains, not to mention just smelled downright bad. She ordered a chicken breast sandwich and got out her money to pay.“That will be 5.52,” the dark-skinned boy at the counter spoke in a bored monotonous voice.“How dare you be such a gonif,” Superjew spat, “It’s 5.42, it has been so for the past year.”“It’s 10 cents more…” the dark-skinned boy said slowly and not kindly, “It’s not going to break the bank….”SuperJew felt herself growing angry, first at the fact that this dark-skinned boy was trying to deceive her, and secondly at the fact that he talked in the manner of an uneducated idiot.“It is 10 cents that I do not need to pay!” she said hotly, “And frankly, I refuse to do just that.”“Are you serious?” “Are you not serious?” SG asked, answering a question with a question, as she had been taught to when she was younger.The boy glowered at her as he handed her the sandwich.“Just take it and shut up.”SG ignored his insult and rejoiced in the sandwich having cost nothing at all. This meant that she and her friends Rivka and Lea could stop by her favorite place, the 99 cent store, after Jewish Club!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Rivka tried on a pair of sunglasses and modeled them for Lea and SG.“What do you think?” she asked, spinning around.“Don’t do it,” SG warned, looking through a display of lip glosses, “I sniffed the same pair in the 99 cent store across town reduced to 75 cents.”
“You’re so useful, with your amazing superpowers,” Rivka said, putting the glasses back on their shelf.SG picked up two lip glosses and held both of them close to her face. One had 7 grams of lip gloss, and one had 8. Decision made.
She headed to the cash register to pay and tripped over someone’s protruding leg, landing on the palms of her hands with a thud. “Oh, shoot. I’m so sorry!” The person who the leg belonged to extended SG a tanned arm. She grasped it and looked up into his face.
Oh. My. Adonai. She made a quick broche that her unruly brown curls were not in disarray and that her nose situation was under control before offering the adorable male specimen in front of her a shy smile.“Don’t be,” she said flirtatiously, extending a thin hand in greeting, “I’m SuperJew.”
“Hey, SuperJew,” he said, not at all taken aback by her name, “I’m David.”
JEWISH NAME. JEWISH NAME. JEWISH NAME.
SuperJew gave David a quick once over. Brown curls, nose slightly out of the ordinary, nice smile, shopping in the 99 cent store… He might be one of their own.“I .. haven’t seen you in the synagogue,” SG said coyly.“I just moved here from Jerasulem,” he said, nodding, and still holding onto her hand.
“Maybe I could be your tour guide…” SG offered.
“I’d like that.”
SuperJew’s phone rang obnoxiously, interrupting her moment. SG knew who it was before even flipping the phone open.“Hey, Mom,” she answered, holding up a finger for David to wait, “Yes, I bought the ingredients for the matzo ball soup…Yes, I’m warm and fed. Yes, I’m sorry I forgot to call you after using the bathroom.” She quickly finished the conversation and hung up the phone, embarrassed.
“Super Jewish mom?” David asked.
“YES!” SuperJew answered, grateful for somebody that understood.
“My mom’s a total feminist, so she raised me to cook and clean so that I could help out my wife some day.”
SuperJew felt her Jewish heart bounce happily around her chest.
“I have to go, but here’s my number,” David took SuperJew’s phone from her pocket and used the keypad to input a number and save himself as a contact. “I’d love that tour.
”SuperJew couldn’t stop herself from checking out his round tuches as he exited the store.
This one was definitely a keeper.