Behaving for Yehudis is failing. It was giving up too much of what makes me, well, me
T
here was a crash and choruses of “Mazel tov!” I whirled around. The waiter carrying the wine decanters had lost his balance and dropped one. Shattered glass littered the floor. I mumbled a mazel tov under my breath and watched him flounder. He needed help.
Everyone seemed busy or distracted. You know what they say, “B’makom she’ein ish — be an ishah.” I pushed my seat back and walked to the kitchen, grabbed a broom and shovel, and returned to the scene of the crime. The waiter was crouched, trying to pick up the biggest pieces.
I held out my broom. “Need a hand?” I started sweeping.
The waiter offered a sheepish smile and a genuine “Gracias.” I smiled back.
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