Shabbat tells the story of the time when she went to the pet store. There was a box full of adorable tiny puppies, but she could only pick one. The puppies all ran away from her—except for one little runt with floppy ears. And Shabbat picked up that puppy and she said, “I will love you and feed you and take you on walks, so long as you play with me and welcome me home every day.” So Shabbat and the puppy lived happily ever after.
“A puppy?” I ask when she finishes. “Really? In your version I’m a puppy?”
“Yeah, why not? Just look at those big brown eyes. You are so cute!”
Before I can stop her, Shabbat leans over and ruffles my hair. I protest, but I know that if that’s how she remembers the story, then that’s how the story’s getting told.
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