Closure

I know, I know, the coatroom is a peculiar place to spend my younger sister’s sheva brachos. And tonight, I’d really tried to stay at the table. Only Hashem knows how hard I tried.

I’d managed to smile brightly as the how-old-is-your-baby exchange went on all around me, and when my sister’s new grandmother gave me a mazel tov hug and said, “You just got married yourself, didn’t you?” (Anyone who doesn’t have children yet must have just gotten married, you understand. Obviously.)

I faked a chuckle and said, “Sure feels like yesterday.” I can’t say that was perfectly honest, though; I often feel like a century has passed since I was a happy and carefree newlywed. But sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, mipnei hashalom and all that.

Then, when one of the guests announced that she doesn’t know a soul who doesn’t own a Citi Mini stroller, I had to fill my mouth with challah to avoid blurting out that shockingly enough, I did possess a soul, though not a Citi Mini.