An offer likes this comes around, let me think about that, never. No one ever offers to make me a kugel. If anything, the people want me to make them my kugel. The people want my recipe. It's the natural order of the High Holidays. I've accepted it. I take pride in it. Not too much pride, otherwise I'd have to atone for my lack of humility, and my Atonement List is already long enough. Still, I was touched by the text. Not just touched. Deeply touched.
I was, however, thrown by the inclusion of walnuts. Walnuts in a kugel? Hmm. Could work. Then again, could be a serious, irreversible misstep. I was torn. In the SJG brain, a danger zone of limited space, I understood the origin of the offer. I'd generously suggested a nice doctor and the visit worked out well. Mrs. Gorgeous wanted to thank me for taking time out of my frantic and exciting life to do such a mitzvah.
Kugel-wise, I wanted to decline, respectfully. I reviewed my options and here's what I texted back: "Not necessary. But thank you. But we can have lunch soon."
There was a long gap till her next text came in, a gap that worried me. I thought, oh, eff, I've insulted her. She wanted to make me a kugel. I could've lived with the walnuts. Once again, I'd misread a situation. I should've just said, "Oh, hell yes!" and waited for the delivery of the kugel (with walnuts).
Finally, Mrs. Gorgeous texted back: "You're so funny. I meant can I make your (!) kugel with walnuts."
From there, things rapidly deteriorated: "That's cuz you said, 'can I make you'...?" "I meant your." "I know. But I wouldn't use walnuts." "I'm Israeli." "So use walnuts." "You crack me up." "Ditto." "Thanks for tomorrow's blog." "I'm here to please." "BTW: What's the walnut-Israeli connection?" I'm still waiting for the answer on that one.
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