Now before you get your overalls in a bunch, for my bein’ po-litically incorrect! I just want to remind y’all I ain’t here to ruffle your feathers, so don’t be havin’ no hissy fit, y’ hear. I'll swanee, I’m just here cause, I’m a Jew. A New York Jew at that and I just met me a nice young displaced Southern boy, from good ole’ New O’leans. My Southern boy came up here for a job, and he never left. He just was keepin’ on keepin’ on, you know what I mean? Anyway, we wuz havin’ some trouble communicatin’ here it was like we wuz speakin’ some two different languages.

It was bad enough he didn’t know what khafilah fish was, but he had to go and spit the caviar in the napkin at my cousin’s wedding on Fire Island? Oh vey! Was that a sight, or what? Okay, so I did emit some catfish from my pallet into the potted plant at his niece’s coming out party, but come on! Something’s gotta give here. So while I’m kvetshing about my boyfriend’s cluelessness on the New York vibe and his lack of khutspe in business (hey! He’s a filmmaker! He’s gotta have some khutspe if he’s gonna make it!) his family is treating me like I’m from another planet! Is it my fault they never visited their son the entire seven years he resided on the upper West Side?

To add insult to injury, my family is farklempt about my soon marrying a sheygets! But I love that sheygets and since when did we go to temple anyway? It seems my family only thinks about religion when there’s a wedding, a baby and a death (and even when there’s a death, they don’t think about religion too much, because they simply believe the deceased merely goes to a hole in the ground). So while my boyfriend and I are learning to communicate to one another, we are also mottling through how to deal with the mishpokhe. I can tell my family not to kibitz with my love life and he can tell his family “Stop meddlin’ my affairs!”