Talk the Israeli talk

Saturday night is one night where I no longer want to run into town and party. After all, I'm in my 50s and Sunday is a work day, so going anywhere on a Saturday night is no longer fun.

My eldest daughter wanted to go for pizza with me, my Complainer and her boyfriend. We looked quite the motley crew as we sauntered in there with our pajama fleece pants, and slippers with pink socks. The pizza place was busy. It does a brisk business on Saturday evening, when most people, like myself, prefer staying home. The pizza shop is our local version of a pub. Maaleh Adumim doesn't have a pub, so it's a great place for people wanting to dry out. Too bad we don't have rehabs here for alcoholics, because I'm thinking maybe the Brits should forget about their fancy shmancy Priory clinic and open one up here.

The male members of one family were at the Pizza shop taking up most of the floor space, watching the football game on the television on the wall. In fact, they were watching a few football games, cheering for Chelsea (against Manchester City), reiterating for me that they were not against Manchester United, God forbid, before switching the station to watch Jerusalem's Betar team with alternate cheers and loud OY's while holding their heads in misery at times.

The pizza was great, smothered in onions and mushrooms, flavored with sumac and other spices. The pizza makers asked us how it was. The Complainer shrugged "nothing special...." I glared at her. It was delicious! Why did she insult them?

"Oh be Israeli mom. This is how we talk."

"Yes, so I've heard" I muttered.

But the big Israeli bully of a daughter that I have, turned helpless this morning.

"Mom, Visa took 1,000 shekels from my bank on the 2nd, and I TOLD the bank that I wanted it out on the 10th. Now I have no money..." she was miserable.

"Looks like it's time to Talk Like An Israeli now and give it to that bank person, isn't it?"

It's a good thing she has a good many years of practice....