The house was perfectly clean, the table picture-perfect, the food cooked to perfection. And I was a perfect wreck
Perfect.
Everything will be perfect.
I’ll have a perfect menu, a perfect table, and a perfectly clean house.
My husband of six months had just informed me that he would be completing a masechta the next week.
“Do you want to go out to eat?” I asked. “My father always took us to a fancy restaurant when he made a siyum.”
“Actually, I was thinking of making a siyum here,” my husband casually informed me. “We’ll invite my parents and your parents and all of our siblings.”
Create a free account to keep reading.
