How funny and sad is it that I’m giving parenting advice and support to Shifra when I’m kinda muddling through it myself right now?

"Remind me of our goal today?” Shifra asked, eyes on the streets ahead.

“We have a fancy-shmancy anniversary shabbaton coming up, and according to the head of the Neshei, my clothing judgment can’t be trusted.”

“She said that?”

“Not in so many words,” I amended, then filled her in on some background.

“If that woman can’t appreciate what she has in front of her, then the rest of the world will.” A smirk played around Shifra’s mouth.

I gave Shifra a questioning look.

“I’ll just work a little of my PR magic. People will know your name, call you, ask for advice…” She trailed off.

“No, that’s not what I want.” I pounded the dashboard for emphasis.

“You don’t have to take any of the jobs,” Shifra said quickly. “It’s leverage.”

Apparently, when it’s a job you can use the word leverage and not feel dirty.

“You need four outfits.”

“Four?!” My hand grabbed the armrest for support.

“One for Friday night, one for Shabbos morning, one for shalosh seudos, and one for Motzaei Shabbos.” Shifra ticked off her fingers

“But who needs three Shabbos outfits? Especially three maternity outfits that’ll fit me for the next two months and zeh hu. Unless I buy a mumu. Should I buy a mumu?”

Shifra shrugged, flicking up the blinker to complete the motion.

“In the right pattern, it can work these days.”

“Show me the mumuus!” I bellowed.

Shifra winced. There was something of Yehudis in her face. I sighed, then resolved to behave myself. We pulled up to the maternity store, one of the nice ones with pretty display models and color schemes.

“Why are we shopping here? I can buy a big top on sale for half price and call it a day.”

Shifra scoffed and turned off the engine. “The sizing up bit looks ridiculous. It’s not fitted properly and what you save in money you multiply in mortification.”

I gave an exaggerated pout as we left the car.

“Oversize is my tradition, I’ve been doing it since Leah.” I pulled open the glass door, a whoosh of air blew my sheitel back, then forward into my eyes. I left it there, looked at Shifra, and pulled a funny face.

She laughed and I brushed it back in place.

“Oversize is a bona fide kollel wife look. It worked then, it doesn’t work for the rebbetzin of Khal Adas Yisroel.”

I looked around. A teal tunic hanging on a mannequin caught my eye.

“This one.” I tugged at the sleeve.

Shifra steered me away. “Black and white for you, dearie, with maybe an accent of color.”

“This is no fun.”

“Who said anything about fun? This is a job. You asked me to help you for a reason.”

Job, right, this is a job. I mostly forget that.