Saturday, September 20, 2008

The Shabbes Nigger

Hubby isn't particularly politically correct. I was thinking about even allowing him to go to the Paul McCartney concert this Thursday. Knowing that Paul is quite a gung-ho vegetarian, I promised myself no knockwurst sandwiches while waiting at Gate 6 for 12 hours. I'll take egg sandwiches for the morning, goat cheese and sprouts sandwiches for lunch, and humous sandwiches and salad for dinner. I feel I need to respect Paul's wishes and his wishes are that everyone on the planet will become vegetarian. So far, munching on a chicken leg doesn't bring me to guilt pangs yet, but if I go to a McCartney concert, I feel biting into a juicy hamburger at the venue would be offensive. I mean, you don't want to be eating a ham sandwich while face to face with the Prophet Mohammad or Moses, so this is like the same thing, isn't it.

Hubby, on the other hand, has no qualms about eating whatever it is he wants when he wants. If there are rules against bringing meat into Park Hayarkon, Hubby might get agitated as he does when there are any rules to begin with and break them in spite. Then he'd get into a heated argument with local vegetarians, telling them "it's all bullshit." Everything is bullshit to him. And he just loves pushing peoples' buttons.

He has dared me for weeks that if we were alone in the home one weekend, that we should prance around the house naked. I usually give this suggestion my usual 'blank stare' response as I usually do to his ridiculous proposals. But today, while my son was out playing soccer, he looks at me with one eyebrow raised and a sly smile appeared on his face.

"Well? We're alone."

"OK" I said and pulled my top off at the dining table and continued to read the papers as if reading the morning papers topless is a regular thing.

Hubby then got nervous. I dared his dare. He didn't expect this.

"Please don't go over to the window to do the dishes or anything."

"Shit darling. It's my day of rest. Whose doing dishes?"

Fast forward...Saturday is HIS day to clean. Even though it's just the three of us in the house this weekend, he wonders why every 5 seconds there's another dish or cup to wash.

He looks at me, shrugs and says

"What am I - the Shabbes (Sabbath) Nigger?"

I look back at him. It's no use. I can never politically-correct him.

1 comment:

rabbi lars shalom said...

MAN i AM f(&(&(ING DREAMING ABOUT pAUL mCcARTNEY!! HE PLAYS A SOLO GIG, AND i FLY OVER THE AUDIENCE ,GET BACKSTAGE, AND TELL HIM i WANT A FIGHT!! and i try to find you and THEN I GET KICKED IN THE HEAD, AND HE GIGGLES...and you keep saying baby we're dead, but i can't see you...and i keep saying your hubby is a bra!!!