This (at least for yours truly, and at the time, nothing short of breathtaking) story just occurred: my sister, soft spoken, polite, but the type: quiet fighter. Anyway she is 13, that’s 12 years younger than me, has just returned from London with my parents, they are all visiting me and Miami, the door opens, and we all (sort of) kiss and hug and then begin to yell about tort law, Jewish husbands, poking at one another's troubled spots and urging massive pacts of trying to look better, and of course, gossiping about the ol' Russian circle, and then after about two hours of intense pointmaking - around that time, mind you, my eyes had begun to brim with tears of neither happiness nor sadness, but rather those stemming from the depth that is family lore, triggered only by the characters of the lore - all of a sudden, a second of silence...tock...and my sister pipes in - as if through a fog, or even out of nowhere – with the following comment:
“So I was wearing that yellow shirt with his design and the signature in navy, and this girl in camp comes up to me and says, “what does the DE stand for,” and I’m all – Drux Enterprises.”
1 comments:
Wow-- that is hysterical.
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