Often I have been asked if I was a Jewish Princess. Well, , during my turgent youth, I became a "Jewish Princess-in-waiting", as I was dating a brilliant young orthopedic litigator named Schmecky Bismark.
It was about this time of year, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur ,that Schmecky decided I should meet his family.
Oh, they couldn't have been nicer, and I immediately felt right at home. I was especially impressed that they spoke to me in foreign tongues, assuming that I would understand.
" What a big toches," the grandmother hollered as she gave me the once over, and,"What kind of meshugeneh name is Trixie?"
However, the biggest compliment came when Schmecky announced that we were planning to get married.
"Oy!, such tsores mine eizel grandson, Schmecky! You want to marry this peroxided shikseh?"
And then she collasped on the floor.
We never married. I don't think the Bismarks thought I was religious enough. Not true, I am a person of faith.
I recently began attending a new church located in a vacant pancake house on Route seventeen. It's called The International House of Prayer, ( IHOP). It all began a few years ago when a tollbooth worker from Hackensack claimed she saw the face of Sally Struthers on top of her French toast.
It's a very nice congregation. I love the singing, and the fact that I always leave smelling like artificial maple syrup.
And speaking of French toast, my boss, Kenny, did another doodle of the late Luciano Pavarotti, which ran over the weekend in WSJ.
Your favorite maple shikseh, I remain,