Today I'm going to play a little game. I'm going to set up a little scenario, and I'd like you to attribute some comments to one of the players.
Imagine the scene: Rudee has spent the day cooking a very ethnic birthday feast for her husband who worked all day long. She slaved over the stove making grape leaves, fatoush, lebneh with cucumbers and rice pudding. For the heck of it, she roasted a chicken in case some of the guests didn't want her grape leaves. She thought of everyone.
At around six PM, the small party of guests arrived including Rudee's son, daughter, her daughter's boyfriend, MLTL and lastly, the guest of honor. By seven, they were all partaking of the meal and Rudee was seriously working on her second beer. So now the stage is set and the evening of wit and repartee begins in earnest.
Who said these things?
1. "Rudee? Are you really part Belgian? No kidding? Really? Because if you really are, I found some Belgian cheese at the Italian market and I'm going to buy you a hunk the next time I'm there
whether you like it or not.
2. Be sure when you read this, you let it all run on in one sentence to get a feel for what I heard:
"Rudee?are you drinking beer?you know, I used to drink beer, but I haven't had a drop in thirty years. my wife used to drink a lot of wine in fact she was quite a wino. what kind of beer are you drinking? you don't say? it has pumpkin in it? isn't that your second?
3. "You know Rudee, my father used to say only a Jew eats at the table with his hat on." Now picture that Rudee had a guest at the table who did indeed have a hat on during this very casual dinner and you also need to know, this was a blanket statement indicating both hat wearers and Jews are rude in this man's eyes. I never noticed or took offense.
I'm giving you three guesses at who had worst manners at dinner. If you guessed it was the same one who bought his son a used and pilling sweater at the flea market as a fiftieth birthday gift, made derogatory remarks about his dead wife and Jews, slurped his food, smacked his lips and chewed with his mouth open, you'd be right.
Next time, if there is a next time I invite this dolt, I'll start drinking hours before he gets here. Instead of the cheese, I hope he can find me some Belgian beer.
He's a mean old bastard.
The good news? The hat adorned young man figured out the directions for putting my loom together. For that, I paid him with an edible care package.
The old coot got nothing.