Overheard in the Big Apple

Well, we took New York by storm last weekend. It's hard to believe we got there a full week ago. It seems like so much has happened since then. Really, it was just a stomach virus. If you were, say, a Russian spy following us with a tape recorder over that weekend, this is what you might have heard:

• Anshel to Shlomo: "That's a great hat. I am sure it is warm. But, you kind of look like you should be in the cast of F-Troop when you wear it. Try another one." Not everyone can look good in every hat like I do.
• Shlomo: "That's the guy from the costume show." Anshel in response: "Yes, that is Chris from Project Runway." Costume show? Seriously.
• Anshel: "Wow, that mirror is beautiful. It would look great in our living room." Shlomo examining the tag hanging from it: "Oh, it is. Holy sh!t! I must have added a zero." Anshel carefully lifting the tag: "No, it actually is $400,000." We were so out of our league in that store.
• Anshel: "You should get that."
• Shlomo: "You should buy that." I don't think an explanation is really necessary.
• Shlomo: "Where would we put it?" Anshel in response: "I am sure it can go somewhere in our house." This conversation applied to numerous objet d'art.
• Anshel: "This is the best lobster with lemon risotto that I have ever had." It was also the only lobster with lemon risotto that I had ever had. Given the opportunity, I would definitely have it again. You should, too.
• Both, uttered almost in unison as she took the stage: "Dianne Wiest is so beautiful."
• Anshel: "How can you not love a play that culminates in a choreographed routine to George Michael's Freedom? And, they strip to a nude body stocking!!!!" Really, how can you not?
• Both, in unison after each purchase: "We are sooooo out of control."
• Anshel: "My friend Phoebe is so nice." Okay, so I'm still a little star-struck.
• Shlomo: "This is the best apple crisp. The prunes are a nice touch." Anshel: "Yeah, I am pretty sure I don't need prunes at the moment."
• Anshel: "Yeah. I am pretty sure that's a Warhol. And, I am pretty sure we can't afford it." It was and we could not.
• Salesman at Barney's New York, New York: "That table top is made from wild agate." Anshel in response: "Thank goodness. Nothing repulses me more than domesticated agate." Wild agate? Who are they trying to kid? By the way, said table will arrive next week. (Also, if you are a geologist and there really is a difference in "wild" versus "domesticated" agate, please clue me in in the comments section.)

That's about it for the moment. I think they are all in enough context to get the drift. If not, I can explain.

New BFF

I am sick. I am going to the office today. But it has been a long 48 hours. But really, who cares about that? I have an important update to share.

Shlomo and I have a new best friend. If you are an fan of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Princess Caraboo, or (my favorite) Drop Dead, Fred, you might have heard of her. If you ever find yourself looking in the mirror and uttering that line from Lace...the best line from any mini-series ever..."Which one of you bitches is my mother?"...then you know her. Her name? Ms. Phoebe Cates.

In case you did not know, she has been married to a certain Oscar winner named Kevin Kline for many years and has basically given up the business known as show. They have their kids, live in New York, are blissfully happy, blah, blah, blah. A few years ago, she opened a store on the Upper East Side called The Blue Tree. I went in a couple of years ago with my mother. It's a great store. When we were leaving, we saw her walking down the street to the store. She is still stunningly beautiful.

Anyway, on Monday, Shlomo and I were shopping our way across the isle of Manhattan. That is a whole other story, by the way. We did that very well. So, we went to The Blue Tree. They buzzed us in the store and standing in the walkway putting some jewelry in the display case was Ms. Cates. She welcomed us to the store and was very nice. My first response was what it usually is when I am caught off-guard, "Uhmana, uhmana, uhmana." I knew it was her store, but I assumed she had minyans who did the work. Evidently I was wrong.

When I could compose a full sentence, I said,"Okay, I cannot pretend I don't know who you are. I'm a big fan. I like to think I am cool and can ignore stuff like that, but I'm not."

She laughed and said, "Oh, coolness is so overrated." We looked around. I had seen some vintage cufflinks on their website. Shlomo asked Phoebe about them. She sent us upstairs. I found a pair (Wedgwood from the 1940s). Shlomo, who I am convinced was just caught up in the moment, found a pair (silver pelicans). We went downstairs to make the purchase.

On the way out, I thanked her and said, "Please act more!"

She died laughing and said, "No way. I am done forever."

Me pleadingly, "Not even if Jennifer Jason Leigh directs another movie?"

Her, "Oh, that I would do in a heartbeat. That's just play. And, Jennifer has been talking about it again."

I then told her that we had seen her husband in Cyrano de Bergerac in December and loved it. Actually, I might have said there is no justice in the world if he does not win the Tony. She asked what we had seen while we there. We ran down the list. She talked about each play. We particularly talked about The Seagull starring Dianne Wiest and Alan Cumming. She told us she had played Nina about 20 years ago in La Jolla and then talked of Meryl doing it in the park a few years ago. Yeah. She called her Meryl. Because they are friends. I am pretty sure I would call her Meryl Streep to her face. That's right. I was talking to someone who is on a first name basis with Meryl. Aye, yi, yi.

She asked where we were going for lunch and recommended a place a few doors down. I told her where we were thinking and she agreed it was a good choice. All in all, she was just charming. I love her.

So, I guess you can see how close we now are. If I saw her walking down the street, I would approach and she would I am sure graciously respond, "I'm sorry, sir. Who are you? Please stop accosting me."

Scout it Out

I pulled it out...that familiar purple box. It looked basically the same since childhood. The girl on it might have changed, but it's still familiar. Here it was...my favorite Girl Scout cookie...the caramel delight. I still wonder why they are not called Samoas as they were when I was a kid, but there is nothing like the smell of a newly opened package. Well, nothing like the smell except maybe the taste. It's nice to know some things never change. No matter what your favorite type, happy Girl Scout Cookie day. Some (mainly me) consider it the happiest day of the year. Bon Apetit!

Puebla--the Long Version

Wow! What a weekend! We set off for Puebla wanting what seemed to be an oxymoron: a relaxing adventure. Turns out, that is exactly what we got. Simply, it is a fantastic place. Puebla, it turns out, is a popular tourist destination...for Mexican tourists. In our entire weekend there, we only saw six other Americans. Yo hablo poco espanol. (or is it pequeno?) Anywho, Shlomo's Spanish is much better than my own. As a result, we could actually function.

When we got there at 9:00 on Friday night, we really had only one thing on our mind: mole sauce! We went to the beautiful La Purificadora hotel in a 45 minute taxi ride that I like to describe as a gas can on wheels. We arrived. We tried to check in. Ingles...not so much...slight language barrier...no problema...no more rooms with balconies?!?! Huge problema. Here's the deal: normally, amenities such as a balcony don't really matter that much to me. However, this time it was. I had fantasies of sitting on the balcony, relaxing in the perfect weather, reading a novel, and drinking my favorite beverage: Mexican Coca-cola.

Entrance to the hotel...

We remained very calm. The desk clerk said that they would just put us in a room without the balcony and refund the rate differential. I would have probably taken this option. However, Shlomo stepped up. He explained that we had booked and PAID for our room six months ago and conveniently I had a copy of the confirmation. He understood how mix-ups happened, but we should have what we paid for. It could only be described as frantic scurrying-about behind the desk. Other workers were called over. They disappeared behind a curtain (literally). We were giving each other "the look." Shlomo's look is "I am beyond frustrated." My look is more of a "be calm, look at this beautiful hotel with the open-air lobby, and the wooden tile floor(I know that sounds wrong, but they were actually tiles made of wood), and the large purple couches around stunningly modern fire pits on the terrace."

The worker came back to the desk. In her broken English, she made the offer of a small suite with a terrace. I swore I heard the words "private jacuzzi." Shlomo heard no such thing. We agreed to look at the room. By look, I mean take the room. What were going to do? We were in Central Mexico. It was nearly 10:00 at night. There was not a flight out until morning.

We walked in the room. "Suite" is really not the right word to describe. There was a desk, a bed, and a sofa. Then, we stepped out on the terrace. There was a sofa out there. It was nice. Then, we turned the corner. It was at least forty feet long. And there, at the very end, was a see-through jacuzzi...like the pool on the roof. Hmmm...terrace versus balcony...as Tally would say, we stuck it to the man.

The balconies...one of which should have been ours...




The terrace that was ours...




Our private jacuzzi!

Trying to contain our glee, Shlomo looked at the bellman and simply said, "This will do." We walked back into the room. I glanced up at the row of four by six balconies on the perpendicular side of the hotel and practically squealed with delight.

View from the terrace

We then walked about 10 blocks (which should have only taken six but somehow we messed that up) to have a late dinner. We shared queso fundido (melted cheese and tortillas) and mole poblano (chicken topped with mole sauce). Delicioso. By the time we finished it was 11:00 and we called it a day.

However, I did discover the joy that is Mexican television. One channel was nothing but American sitcoms. I enjoyed Friends and drifted off to sleep.

Saturday, we decided to walk around and sample the local shopping. Walk is the key word. We walked and walked and walked. Did I mention we walked? Oh yeah, then we walked some more. Puebla is known for its centuries of producing Talavera pottery. We visited the little factory which specialized in the certified pottery. Puebla is also home to various artists who also make the pottery, but their methods don't follow the strict guidelines of the certification.

It probably comes as no shock that we fell in love with one of the more expensive pieces in the store. They quoted a price. We rejected the price. They quoted a lower price. It was still more than we wanted to spend. We said we would go eat lunch and think about it. And we had heard there were some great antique stores in town that we wanted to see. Arturo was not happy. He conferred quickly with his boss. He quoted another even lower price.--almost half off. We said we would be back at 3:00 with an answer. He literally followed us for the next two stores. Another guy from the store followed us for at least a block to make sure we did not purchase the knock-offs. We told them politely to relax. Long story, fairly short: the following should arrive in a week or so. We hope it goes in the entry way. If not, we will have a very nice (and quite large) urn on the counter in the master bath.


As we were debating the urn, we stumbled (the streets and sidewalks were both cobblestones, so "stumbled" is the right word) through a couple of street markets where local artisans sell their wares. Basically, they put it out on a blanket and hope you will buy something. We did purchase a small frame. There were really none of the typical souvenirs...no T-shirts saying, "My parents went to Puebla and all I got was this crummy t-shirt"...no caps...no thimbles...no spoons with the little enamel medallion reading "Puebla"...nothing, er nada. There were, however, balloon vendors carrying more balloons that I thought possible. I am not sure how they did not float away. Ironically, I don't know that I saw one kid actually carrying a balloon, though.

For lunch, we did not eat off a street cart as Shlomo would have liked. (In case I never expressed it before, Shlomo can be very low-brow in his food consumption.) Instead, it was a restaurant about the size of my cubicle at work. They cooked on a barrel, fitted to a stand, with a griddle over the fire. The stand of this cooking apparatus had two legs in the restaurant and one leg on a concrete block. It was like my dad had made it himself. Anywho, we both had quesadillas on freshly handmade corn tortillas. Mine was chicken. Shlomo had mystery meat. Delicious. And the cost was 9 pesos each which translated to less than 90 cents.

We walked some more.

For dinner, we had made a reservation in the hotel restaurant. It was muy bueno. (You really need to prolong the pronunication of "muy bueno" to get the full effect....muuuuuuuuuuuyyyyyyy bueeeeeeeeenooooooo). Shlomo ordered stuffed squash blossoms as an appetizer. Who knew those would be good? Little corn tamales...mmm, mmm. Red snapper cooked in corn leaves...I loved it...Shlomo not so much. We enjoyed dessert out by the fire (because it was not a non-smoking restaurant and someone lit up right next to me...literally right next to me...community tables). After dessert, we went to the room, relaxed on the terrace a bit, and turned in celebrating surviving our first full day.

3:00 a.m. -- I awoke from a peaceful slumber and could only think two words: serving pieces. I was convinced that I needed serving pieces from the Talavera place. I am a dish fiend. However, I really only have place settings. I knew I had to go back. I just had to figure out a way to break it to Shlomo.

11:00 -- We awake. Shlomo wants dry cereal for breakfast from the buffet downstairs becuase his stomach is a bit upset from the mystery meat in the prior day's lunch adventure. I want to stay in the lovely robes and slippers provided by the hotel and enjoy breakfast on the terrace. He hems and haws (I think that's Spanish for whines and complains). I throw a little fit about how breakfast on the terrace was promised on Friday night. He continued to hem and haw. I get more frustrated and continue my fit. I point out that dry cereal can be ordered for $3 from room service. I will happily pay the $3 if it means I can stay in my robe. He continues with his belly-aching. I give up and get in the shower.

11:30 -- We go to the restaurant. Shlomo eats his dry cereal. He gets us a plate of fruit, cheese, and cookies from the buffet. I said I did not want fruit, cheese, or cookies. He got them anyway. I refused to eat any. He gave me a dirty look and shrugged his shoulders. I ate my undercooked pancakes. He was not happy. I was more not happy. He was a jerk. I was a baby. I know...healthy, right?

After lunch we bumped into a nice couple from New York. We know they thought we were nice because as we were walking away, we heard him say to her, "Nice people." They recommended that we go to the pyramid in Cholula which was a thirty minute gascan-on-wheels ride away. The taxi driver dropped us off at the entrance to the tunnels that went through the pyramid. It was pretty cool. I felt like...hell, I was...Indiana Jones. The pyramid itself: disappointing. It hasn't really been excavated yet. It just looks like a mound in the middle of a field. However, there were views of the volcanoes that surround the city. Just your average Sunday walk in the park.


Mound of dirt or pyramid? You decide.

We taxied back into Puebla. I broke the news to Shlomo about the serving pieces. Shockingly, he seemed game. It probably helped that we have a small dinner party coming up. What? I am supposed to serve mashed potatoes in Gladware? We trekked back to the Talavera shop. We picked a couple of platters and a serving bowl. We actually agreed on what to get. Not that shocking as we usually agree on what to get, but given the morning, it could have gone either way.

Shlomo Stomachache suggested we go to a little Spanish restaurant that the New Yorkers had recommended. We went. Like my parents, we had dinner at 4:30. It was a good thing. The city basically shut down at 5:00. We spent the rest of the night relaxing on the terrace, in the jacuzzi, and turned in early because we had to get up at 4:00 a.m. to catch our flight.

I did not sleep. Why is it when you know you have to get up at a ridiculously early hour, you cannot sleep for thinking about having to get up? We got up, made the flight, and one of us went to work. The other was going to his office, but went home to change and never quite left the house. I will let you guess which one that was. I will give you a clue: he likes to be like Cher.

All in all, it was a great trip. If you made it this far in my description, you should plan a trip there for yourself. After all, it probably took longer to read this than the flight would be. It truly was a relaxing adventure. Now, I just have to relax enough this week for our non-relaxing adventure in New York this weekend. We're still not sure how we planned trips on back-to-back weekends. But, I will leave you with a view of the rooftop pool from the hotel. If that doesn't get you to book your trip, nothing will.

A Housekeeping Nightmare

In case you did not know, one of my dogs...who I will call Fargo (because that is her name)...has never really housebroken. At best I would say it is 70/30 on when she goes outside. She is nine years old. I have resigned myself to the fact that she will never be perfect. At times, I think it is revenge when she goes in her crate (where most of the accidents occur). At other times, I think she just does not get it.

It never fails. If you leave home for an hour in the middle of a Saturday, there will be a present. But, during the week, she usually does fine. Well, Tuesday night, she left a small present for me when I got home from work.

It just so happened that I was on the phone cheering up my 10-year-old cousin who had missed her first word in the county spelling bee the night before. I told her it was a proud family tradition as I, too, had missed my first word in the county bee after winning the school bee. Yes, we are nerds in my family. So, I gathered the little mess with tissue and placed it in the toilet to dispose of it.

My mother raised me right. I do not flush the toilet while you are on the phone with someone--even if she is ten and loves potty humor. Not to mention, it's a turbo-charged flusher. I am pretty sure our neighbors on the corner know every time we flush. So, I thought, I will finish my conversation (which had now moved to the Food Network...another favorite topic of hers) and get back to this.

Here's the deal. I forgot to get back to this. Normally, it would not be a big deal. Shlomo or I would be the one find it. No such luck. I met a friend for dinner. I told her some of the things we had done to the house recently. She wanted to see them. I invited her back to take a look. She washed her hands in said powder room while she was there.

She left. I went in the powder room to do what it is you do in a powder room. There it was. A little log floating on a nice billowy cloud of tissue. I know she saw it. There was no way to miss it. Instant mortification. I emailed her the next day to explain that, yes, I do flush. She laughed and I am pretty sure she believed me. She should. It's the truth. But seriously, why does stuff like this happen to me? I'm good people.

Kimberly

I know I usually have something light and frothy that I post on here. However, today is different from other days. Three years ago, one of my best friends was killed in a car wreck. Obviously, she was taken too soon. I have often said that everything happens for a reason. However, this is one of the few things in life where I can't find a reason.

Kimberly, for those who did not know her, had a vibrancy to her that was almost unparalleled. I first met her when I was in college and she was visiting mutual friends in my college town for the weekend. Instantly, I knew we would be friends. I don't know if it was her fabulous pair of embroidered platform sandals or the way she could work a sweeping, pointing arm motion into a conversation, but somehow I knew that we were two of a kind.

A few years passed. I would see her in her hometown at various functions. We hung out at New Year's parties a couple of years in a row. Then, I wound up in Houston and she wound up in Austin. We talked of getting together and even followed through a couple of times. We could drop and pick up a conversation and never notice the time that had passed between whether it was minutes or days. She had her own colloquialisms that I learned to find endearing. She affectionately referred to anything or anybody she could not appropriately name as "Hoochie Mama" and had a constant debate between "the this and the that."

Then, something happened that I will always be thankful for (although I am pretty sure she wasn't). Kimberly lost her job. After a couple of months, she found a job in Houston. I had a buddy. In the year she lived here, I cannot tell you how many times my phone would ring at around 8:00 at night. I would answer and hear on the other end, "I'm bored. Do you want to meet for the M and the P?" That was our almost unbreakable code for manicure and pedicure.

We lived on opposite sides of the city, but we would both hop in our cars and race to the Galleria. We knew the salon there would take their last appointment at 8:45. We would sit and gossip, make fun of people, and quite frankly laugh the whole time. Every time, she had the same debate (French or color) and became obsessed with mastering the technique of the French manicure in case she needed to give herself one "in a pinch." We would then finish, go eat a super-delicious meal/snack of broccoli cheese soup and southwest eggrolls at Chilis in the food court and head home. I always made her call when she got home and was in her house. To call her neighborhood "the ghetto" as she did was quite frankly an insult to the ghetto.

Like all of us, there were things she wanted or did that made no sense to any other person. But they did to her and that was what mattered. For example, her aforementioned house that she rented when she was here. I was literally scared to drive over to it. I often did, but never without some trepidation. Did I mention it was literally yards from the airport landing strip and in a crime-ridden neighborhood? Yes, she had a large dog. But, how she ever managed to sleep through the night is still a mystery to me. She befriended "Spikes" a large black man who lived two doors down and always knew she could call him if something went wrong.

In a similar vein, I will never forget (no matter how hard I try) the entire weekend we devoted to finding her a shower curtain. Like myself, she could imagine what she wanted and then search high and low until she found it. She was very specific...white on white dotted swiss. After visiting Target, Bed Bath and Beyond, Linens N Things, Ikea, Wal-mart, and about 23 specialty stores, she finally found it. However, there was a problem. She already had shower curtain rings that had a clip on them so she did not need it to actually be a shower curtain with holes in it for the rings. It could just be a normal curtain panel. I kept saying, "But this is what you want." She did not get it and continued the search until she found simply a panel. I would have just bought new rings. But when she finally found it, you have never heard anyone so happy about a shower curtain.

Happy is how I always remember her. Like anyone who has made it to adulthood, she had her share of tribulations. During the time in Houston, I watched as she went through a painful breakup. But, she always kept her spirits up and never wallowed. Her glass was always half full.

Our last weekend in Houston together, we spent the day shopping our usual haunts (for old times sake). She loved to find a bargain at an antiques store and could spend hours pouring over the vintage jewelry in the cases there. If there was an old beat-up lizard handbag, stand back. It was going home with her. It was a typical spring day in Houston and the weather was perfect. We drove around in my little red convertible playing Tom Jones's greatest hits a little louder than we should. When we finished, she hopped in her white SUV with the matching fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror and popped the cd in to listen again. I drove away smiling thinking I would never have another friend who could truly understand just how fun that was. Billy Joel was right. Only the good die young.

Grammy or Gramps?

Okay, I am watching the Grammys. Who in the hell are these people? Cyndi Lauper comes out to give the best new artist award. I was willing to overlook the fact that she was with Miley Montana, or whatever her name is, but I honestly could not sing a single song of one of the best new artist nominees. I have at least heard of Amy Winehouse, but only because of her exploits...not because of her music.

I remember as a teen, I swore I would stay current with pop music. But, I seem to have regressed to music that was "before my time." I would love to blame Shlomo for all this as he is 17 years my senior. However, I am the one who brought the "Best of Burt Bacharach" cd to the relationship. Streisand's "Back to Broadway?" It was mine. The Rosemary Clooney Songbook? That was me, too.

I know I have lamented on this before, but how did I get so old? I have to do something drastic to escape my early-onset middle-age. Oh, who am I kidding? I need to go eat a metamucil wafer and take my high-blood pressure medication. Oy vey.

Notes from All Over

• Kiki Dunst is in rehab. I don't know whether to say, "WTF?" or "Tick. Tock." Seriously, is everyone in young Hollywood in need of rehab? Stupid question.
• Family Ties reunion on the Today show this morning. That made me happy. Yes, I can sing every word of the theme song including the "Sha, la, la, laaaaaa!"
• I am still rooting for Christian on Project Runway. Although, I thought Chris had the best outfit last night. Is it me, or are they running out of challenges? Seriously, designing for female wrestlers? What's next? Designing duds for Michael Vick's pit bulls? Still, this was fierce.
• Shlomo is in Florida. I was not bitter at all last night when he called to say that he was sitting on the balcony overlooking the beach. Whatever! I was fine sitting in the easy chair watching Days of Our Lives from 1995 on youtube. Really, that was better.
• Our next adventure is in eight short days...Puebla, Mexico...here we come! Donde esta el bano? Yeah, I will making friends for the US in the international community. I really do think I could be a Goodwill Ambassador. I know Spanish-speaking people love it when I just speak a louder version of my English. By the way, Puebla is where mole sauce was first created. That makes me think of a certain family that we have not seen in a couple of weeks.
• I realize I live in Texas and cannot see everything that happens near a Broadway stage. However, I am kind of sad to be missing this. One can only hope that it is revived for a run on the Great White Way. I can report however, that I will be there a couple of weeks later and am seeing some things that I am very excited about...including this, this, and this.
• Politics, schmolitics. Who can even focus on the election when Britney has been released? Now, that's important.

Tagged for the last time...

So, a certain Miss America-wannabe tagged me to name seven things that people don't know about me that are bizarre or interesting. In turn, I am supposed to tag seven others. Here's the deal. I hate this crap. I will list my seven things, but refuse to tag others. So here they are in no particular order. I make no promises that they will even be interesting.

1. At one point, I followed religiously all ten soap operas that were on the air. I either watched or taped them all. Loser. Also, I spent three hours last night watching clips of Guiding Light from 1992 on youtube. So, I have not improved THAT much.
2. My favorite gelato flavor is Avocado. Don't knock it until you try it.
3. I like to consider myself an eighties TV theme song specialist. If a show aired in primetime for more than six episodes in the 1980s, odds are strong I can sing the theme song. It will be loud and off-key, but I usually know the words.
4. I try really hard to not do math on the weekends. I get enough of that during the week.
5. Speaking of math, if you give me a calculator, I do the same series of numbers every time to make sure it works. 615+385=1000. Then, I add increments of 1000 until I get to 10,000. Then, I add increments of 10,000 until I get to 100, 000. This pattern continues until I get to the error because it is higher than the calculator can hold. I know. Crazy. I have done it for 20-plus years. And, I do it at least once a day on the 10-key on my desk.
6. I still remember the shorthand I learned in high school. If I am bored in a meeting, I use it to write out poems that I once had to memorize to see if I still know them. No one knows what I am writing. It just looks like I am taking notes.
7. Earlier this year, I thought it was a huge deal when I turned 33 and 1/3. Evidently, no one else thinks it's a big deal to reach 1/3 of a century. Shlomo, at least, played along and bought me a cake. That was sweet.

That's all I have. Seven random things...if you feel so compelled, you can list yours in the comments section or on your blog. I won't curse anyone with this.

And Jill Came Tumbling After...

Growing up, I had excellent teeth. I never even had a cavity until I was 20 years old. (Yeah, 20 was a bad year...cavities and bifocals.) As a result, I have always been a baby about dental work. To this day, I still remember with disgust having to have impressions for my retainer. I whine, I complain. It's just part of what the dentist has to put up with to get my money.

Well, imagine my surprise late last year when my dentist announced that I needed a crown and possible root canal. Instant horror. However, it had been a couple of years since I made myself go to the dentist, so I blamed myself and my dental insurance. If they had just had my old dentist in the network, I would have continued to go and I am sure this whole debacle would have been avoided.

So, I got the crown. The root canal was avoided (because God takes care of the chosen people). I whined a bit, but was fine by dinner.

Fast forward to Saturday night. Shlomo and I had just spent a very nice evening watching the St. Petersburg Ballet's modern interpretation of Bizet's Carmen. We came home, relaxed a little, and were getting ready to call it a day.

I was brushing my teeth and all was well. Brush, brush, brush. Then, it felt very odd. There was a big chunk of something in my mouth. It was my crown. It literally fell out. Shock. Followed by pain. Followed by major pain if I inhaled wrong and the cold air hit it. Rinsing my mouth with water...ouch. It was not good. It was also midnight. What do you do then? Answer: not much. Go to bed. Live with the pain. Try to sleep.

Not shockingly, I was awake by 7:30 on Sunday morning. At 8:00, I was having a debate as to how early was too early to call the dentist. I decided that if I were my dad, this would be late so I called and left a message. Shlomo got up around 9:30 and we decided that if we had not heard back from my dentist by 11:00, we would call his dentist.

Time passed. I whined. Shlomo ate. I could not. Really, I wanted him to eat. He should not suffer for this. And, I am not a big cereal fan to begin with. 11:00 rolled around. We called his dentist. He could meet us at his office at noon.

11:55...my phone rings. It's my dentist. I let it roll to voice-mail. He was out of town. We walk in the building. Shlomo's dentist could not have been nicer. He did the prep work, deadened the left side of my mouth, mixed the cement and was putting my crown in place. I was fine until he said, "Shlomo, could you pick up that suctioning device? I need you to suction while I spray this." WTF? Shlomo is no dentist assistant. Get me out of there. It was like I was Jennifer Garner on "Alias" facing some Chinese torture specialist who wanted my secrets.

Shlomo suctioned. The dentist sprayed. I prayed. It all turned out okay. In fact, two hours later, I was enjoying a turkey burger and onion rings. But it left me with my revised nursery rhyme:


Brush and bristle go to and fro'
Cleaning my molars as they go.
Brush went down.
Out came my crown.
That really hurts...just so you know.