Just In Time For Rosh Hashanah

In the SJG's vast email receptacle, came this cryptic message:

May you & yours be inscribed in The Book of Life for another year of health & happiness.
Love,
Not the Rabbi's  Son

Well, if that isn't apples-dipped-in-honey sweet, what is? Not sure of the sender, I immediately wrote back, for I was raised properly:

Thank you so much.  I wish you the same, whoever you are.
Love,
Not the Rabbi's Daughter

Then I started to think, a sometimes dangerous endeavor, about what a wonderful new line of clothing this would make. Not the Rabbi's Daughter's Jeans. Not the Rabbi's Daughter's Shabbat Shalom Sweater Set. Not the Rabbi's Daughter's High Holiday Dress. Not the Rabbi's Daughter's Yoga Pants.

Is this the greatest idea ever? Am I onto something, or what? So much subtler than Not Your Daughter's Jeans, don't you think? I mean, for those of us who don't have daughters, who live in a manly zone of testosterone, why would I want to wear those kind of jeans, even if they make me look "noticeably slimmer"? But then, Not Your Son's Jeans wouldn't be a big selling point, either.

Before I got too carried away with this awesome get-rich scheme, I decided to track down the sender of the mysterious Rosh Hashanah message. Aha! It came from the Comedy Writer's Son, kinder than kugel, sweeter than Manichewitz wine. My brother John, of course. I wish you the same, hon. I wish you all the same.

Happy Jewish New Year, Bitches! Wait, that didn't come out right. Happy Jewish New Year! (Better?)