Help Me With My Mission

I love Shlomo. I don’t want to gush for the world to read (and by world, I mean about 10 people who look at this thing). He is kind. He is sweet (to most people). He gives so much of his time to volunteerism. But, one of the things I love best about him is that he is often the creator of some great malapropisms.

A prime example of this ability occurred at dinner the other evening. We went to one of our favorite dives to feast on fried chicken. I know, I know…we need to watch our weight. But we had not had this meal in over a month and it is one of our favorites. If we ever take you there, it will be one of your favorites too.

Being a traditional old school restaurant, the waitresses wear very traditional uniforms. You know the type: white blouse, black pinafore over it, engraved name badge, comfortable shoes.

So we were talking to our waitress who I will call Sherry (because that’s her name). We asked if she enjoyed her vacation. (We don’t know her that well. The restaurant closes for two weeks every summer.) We moved on to how hot the weather is.

She then mentioned that her uniform was miserable and she preferred the old ones which had sleeves that hit about “here.” She put the side of her hand on her forearm to demonstrate a three-quarter length sleeve.

“Oh, arm-capris,” Shlomo chimed in. Arm-capris. I guess in his little, non-fashion-dominated world, it would make sense that if Capri pants hit mid-calf, that three-quarter length sleeves which hit mid-forearm would be arm-capris. Sherry and I could not contain our laughter.

So now I have a new mission. It is my goal to have “arm-capris” become a phrase that is sweeping the American vernacular. I will have to always point out the ACs to Shlomo. However, I don’t think I even want to start explaining “manpris” to him. Oy vey.

And the other thing I love most about Shlomo is his ability to crack himself up to the point that he literally faints. But that, my dear reader, is a blog for another day.