Shabbat scrambles in on polished Mary Janes, rushing across the room to where I sit at my desk. “I’m here!” she announces, throwing her arms outward.
I keep writing.
Shabbat grabs my pen, throwing it across the room.
“Hey, I was using that!” I snap.
“But I’m here!”
I glance at my watch. “Well, you shouldn’t be. It’s only 4:30.”
Shabbat folds her arms. “But I’m here.”
I sigh. “I see that you are. So, how do you want to spend all this extra time?”
Shabbat stares at her feet. “Um…”
I resist the urge to groan. “You’re here an hour early, and you don’t have a plan?”
“That’s your job!” Shabbat yells, stomping one tiny foot. Then she collapses on the floor, red folds of skirt fanning out around her.
I settle beside her, wrapping my arms around her narrow shoulders. It’s going to be one of those evenings.
2 comments:
Quite relate-able...
OMG this is exactly how we joked about The Sabbath Queen, Prototype Of All Jewish American Princesses, arriving back when i was in college! :-)
"don't you dare touch that light switch!!!!"
"what do you mean, the table isn't already set?!"
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