Who’s Fooling Whom?

Simmy Mandel

Do you put zucchini in your chocolate cake so you can trick your kids into eating vegetables?

You are my pet peeve.

For starters, you’re training your children to hate vegetables. Children don’t love vegetables in the first place, and now they know zucchini and carrots and avocado must only ever be hidden. Those poor kids won’t eat soup or salad or crunchy peppers and dip.

But worse, you’re deluding yourself. There’s nothing healthy-ish about your cake. This is not about balance, about a small amount of vegetables being better than no vegetables at all. Do you actually think one teaspoon of zucchini hiding in a boatload of sugar is going to satisfy anyone’s vegetable intake?

If you want cake, eat cake. If you want zucchini, I have a delicious recipe for you.

3:24

Miriam Fein

Listen, I’m a super easygoing person. But I can’t stand it when people voice note me.

Must you send me an entire drashah apropos of absolutely nothing? No context, no synopsis, nothing? Like, I get that you’re not able to text me right now, but you’re asking me to be inconvenienced so that it’s more convenient for you. You don’t want to spend three minutes typing out your message… so instead, you insist on sending me a three-minute voice note so we’ve both wasted that time.

And honestly, anything that goes over that two-minute mark… that’s not a voice note. That’s a podcast. And like any podcast, I’ll listen when I have a chance. Or remember it exists. Or never.

Pick the shoes that  match the dress.

Esther Adler

So I want to make this crystal clear to one and all, lest anyone has doubts: I am me. I never became anyone else. Feel free to swab me for DNA testing.

Do not make me do CAPTCHAs to prove my identity.

The process to prove that I’m me and not a robot is exhausting and — forgive me — dehumanizing. Like, robots know everything. Are you trying to catch me misreading a string of twisted text because only a human would make mistakes?

Because trust me, I will make mistakes. Those puzzles are created with the intention to make people make mistakes. And every time they do, the time consumed by those challenges increases.

I’m kind of done with it. I’m done selecting all squares that contain motorcycles and crosswalks and never getting my selections right. (Is that a tiny piece of taillight I see in the corner of that square? Is it?) I’m done listening to inane chatter to select the chirping birds. I’m done choosing the largest yellow cone that’s next to a purple lowercase letter. I’m done dragging buttons and pressing and holding for three seconds, ten seconds, a million seconds. I am so done. Can you just let me log in to my account so I can pay you?

Maybe people find those puzzles fun, but me… I’m terrible at verifying that I’m me. And if you’re going to block me out for too many attempts, let me tell you something. YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO GET PAID. If you care so much that the money you’re requesting should come from a human and not a robot, go ahead and add four more steps and I’m almost done with the verification!!!! Or go request payment from some obliging robots instead. I’ll click on all the traffic lights and have the last laugh.

Say It Right

Tzippy Baum

Please, please, do anything but mispronounce my last name. If I hear someone mispronounce my last name one more time I am going to scream. No, I’m not talking about people I just met yesterday. I’m talking about people I have known for years and years.

So what if the spelling of my name doesn’t match the pronunciation! I’ve introduced myself a dozen times. You know how it is supposed to sound. I find it so inconsiderate when you stand on your high horse and decide that you have to say my name the way you want to as opposed to the way my family has been pronouncing it for decades.

I don’t care that your pronunciation is the more yeshivish way, or that it’s the way the famous chassidish rebbe with the same last name pronounces it. We say it our way, and it makes me think you don’t see me or care when you mispronounce it.

Sit Back, Relax, and Kick Off Your Shoes. Actually, just do that last one.

Rikki Ehrlich

WELCOME, the doormat says in bright, curlicued script adorned with flowers.

“Make yourself at home!” the hostess exclaims graciously, sweeping her hand towards her immaculate living room. “But first, do you mind…?”

Taking off your shoes. Of course.

My biggest pet peeve: I go to someone’s house for the first time. Sometimes, even before the greeting, I’m asked to remove my shoes. Seriously? Do you have a burning bush in your kitchen? Do you expect me to believe that your pristine floors don’t have a single amoeba on them? That I’m about to track New York’s finest pigeon droppings onto your marble? Do you just want to examine my Tory Burches to see if they’re knockoffs or the real deal, or check whether they have any incendiary devices lodged inside?

I’ll be honest. It’s not so much the request to remove your shoes. It’s more that it’s unexpected. And it’s the 90/5 percent rule of sockenomics: 90% of the times you’re asked to remove your shoes, you happen to be wearing one of the 5% of your tights that has a hole. If I had some advance warning, I’d have paid more attention to these details when getting dressed in the morning.

“Excuse me,” you should say. “Please be aware that in my house, no shoes are allowed. We’re like Bedouins! Salaam aleikum.”

Just Let the Virus Win, We Can’t Take It  Anymore

Raizy Bergman

What do you think, doctors are malachim? You don’t need to go running to the pediatrician and sit under a fish tank for two hours because of a sniffle.

Half the things your kid gets are viruses. VIRUSES. They do not respond to antibiotics. Antibiotics are not “just in case” magic potions. If it isn’t a bacterial issue, you’re not curing anything. Congratulations, you are preparing us for the superbug phase.

Are you going to the doctor because the kid is sick — or because you need to feel like the heroic mother in your very own medical drama? Is it just so you can later announce to your sisters, with a sigh that suggests major trauma, “I was at the doctor with Shmulie all day!”? Stay home. He can have a cold without you declaring a family crisis.

Not every “illness” needs medical attention. Sometimes, the treatment is fluids, sleep, and letting the kid (and you!) be mildly miserable for 48 hours.

Size 12?

Shaindy Cohen

I like helping people. I really do. It gives me joy and satisfaction to know that dozens of local mothers can count on my uniform gemach instead of spending a fortune on custom-embroidered shirts and sweatshirts. And I don’t even mind texting back and forth about it.

But is it really too much to ask for a hello, how are you, or even just a matter-of-fact do you have…? It’s the same messages, all the time, coming straight from an unknown number… or even worse, someone I do know.

Size 12?

JH sweatshirt?

Elastic band skirt?

I don’t expect the courtesy of an introduction at this point. As far as you’re concerned, I’m an automated machine specially designed to serve your individual needs. But honestly, how hard is it to write out a sentence? I know, I know, your time is precious. Your daughter is shooting up like a weed right now, and there’s not a moment to spare on pleasantries. You need to save all your time for the hour you’re about to spend in my living room, having her try on every skirt in the closet before you leave them in a heap on my couch for me to sort for the next Size 10? query.

Your time is just too valuable. Mine? Well, I’ve devoted it all to you.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 983)