Michael Wex's Jewish Week
Kvetch Column #35

Below you will find the thirty-fifth edition of Michael Wex's Kvetch column for the Jewish Week.

Anyone who knows me can tell you, “That Wex is a nice guy, but he’s certainly no Beau Brummell.” Having grown up in the 60’s, when middle-class Jewish boys were dying to look like sharecroppers, I’ve remained opgerisn un opgeshlisn, “ragged and tattered,” ever since, much to the chagrin of my daughter and wife. I still own––forget own, I still wear the shirt in which I saw Jimi Hendrix.

“Se past nisht,” said Mrs. Wex in her inimitable Birmingham Yiddish. “It just isn’t appropriate. That shirt is older than I am.”

“So?”

“Bist mer nish’ ka’ shleper, You’re not a shlepper anymore.” And just like that she grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shlepped me of to a mall, while my daughter capered about, chanting, “Abba’s gonna look cool, Abba’s gonna look cool,” as if I ever looked anything else.

After paying a premium for on-the-spot alterations, we emerged from the mall, two women in jeans leading a glatt-kosher Lord Fauntleory afraid to bend his knees lest he ruin the crease of his new Italian suit pants.

We went straight to our favorite restaurant to celebrate; within three minutes, I’d dripped cholent onto my designer pants.

I looked at my wife and shrugged. “Di zelbe Yente, nor andersh geshlayert,” I said. “The same old Yente in a brand new package.” You can take the boy out of the shmattes, but you can’t take the shmattes out of the boy.

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