The SJG & Sister P
In the universe of my "Laughing At Life" workshop, I'm the "rabbi," doling out pithy yet gentle writerly advice: "Come on, people, for eff's sake, do a Spell Check now and then, it won't kill you." And Phyllis Butcher is the "nun"/gifted writer/mensch reminding me to behave: "Out of curiosity, do rabbis use the F word as much as you do?" My answer: "The good ones do." In this way, spiritually speaking, we help each other. I'm the 60-something, she's the 80-something who's taught me so much, and lived the most extraordinary life, I could weep, uncontrollably. Instead, last night, as we sat together at the Motion Picture Television Fund Volunteer Appreciation Dinner, I guzzled chardonnay in celebration of our special bond. Early in the evening, Sister P directed my attention to a scholarly, wise-looking fellow one table over. "See him?" "I see him." "Would you like me to introduce you to a real rabbi?" "How dare you!" I said. "How. Dare. You."
OK, so I was like totally wrong! How did I know he was a Reverend, not a Rabbi?! Mea culpa, dearest Rabbi!
ReplyDelete'Twas Bingo Barry's mistake, not yours, Sister P. As the rabbi says, "Always blame others."
ReplyDelete