Yes. It's true. Let me explain what happened. After you stop laughing, I am sure you'll agree with me.
This morning, after sleeping with Tesla on me all night, I was in the shower. I was thinking to myself, what am I going to cook for dinner tonight (since, as we know, I am the head chef around the house at the moment). Then I remembered, left over Chinese! That's right, we had Chinese last night because our friends, Otto, Wanda and Portia, were all over from San Fran. They're in town to finish moving house. Not that they've found a place they can afford to live. But they have to be out of the house one way or another. So, they're in town and Lotus and Portia had a really good time playing. Since they're in town for the weekend only, we decided to have them stay for dinner. Ordered some delivery, and had a really good meal.
So, there I was, in the shower, thinking about the left overs. That's strange, I thought. The sweet and sour chicken was pretty much gone. The sesame chicken was finished. We had a little beef and broccoli. But almost no one had any fried wontons, and we had a ton of mu shu pork left over. That's odd. Why did we have so much . . .
"Oh no," I exclaimed in the shower.
I got out of the shower and said to the wife, "You have to promise me you'll stab me with a fork or kick me under the table or something before I offer pork to our Jewish friends ever again. Promise me!" They didn't say anything at the time. Just politely refused. Didn't get offended. Didn't storm out angry or anything, just . . . didn't have any. The wife was stunned as well, just having realized she gave Portia one of the wontons, which generally have some sort of shredded pork in them as well. She's going to call them today and explain that it's lack of sleep due to having to sleep with Tesla on us all weekend (she's developing another ear infection and screams bloody murder if we try to put her in her crib). Frankly, Wanda will probably laugh about it.
It's horrible. I feel awful about it. I was raised Unitarian, and our main tenet is tolerance and respect for other people's beliefs (well, not all of them - we don't really respect or tolerate the belief that if you blow up Americans you get some number of virgins in the after-life). You'd think that would mean sitting down for a meal with Jews means a table sans pork and shellfish, right? I mean, how could I forget something like that?
Here's how: I have a horrendously stereotypical view of Jews. It's not particularly negative, it's just that if you were to open my head and filter through the images I have of various peoples, eventually, you'd get to the Jews. You'd find there an image of your standard orthodox Jew: head covered, maybe the curls and the prayer shirt (I don't know the technical names for these things). Basically Woody Allen dressed like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof. My friends do not look Jewish to me. They don't even sound like Brooklyn Jews (being from South Africa), so how am I supposed to tell? I've spent plenty of time with Jews, some from High School, some I've worked with in the past, and they all had at least one feature about them that fit with my Woody-Allen-Tevye image to remind me not to offer them a bite of my sausage laden breakfast sandwich. This is not the first time I've forgotten with Otto and Wanda however, as I often find myself asking how their Christmas was, or some such thing, with their silver menorah sitting right behind me in their curio cabinet. Let's hope it's the last time. It's just, as John Candy said in Spaceballs, "Funny, she doesn't look Druish."