My husband and I love to travel, and this weekend we’re vacationing in an exotic locale – Boro Park. At my in-laws.
See, I was ok when a cockroach crawled over my lips in the middle of the night, but now, it appears, that the tiny, crowded sublet we are renting for the month of August, is infested with dark grey rodents that rustle in the kitchen in the dark, and scamper for the many holes in the walls and floor whenever the lights go on.
If you (like some people – ahhhhem) don’t understand why a disease-bearing vermin that carries even greater risks to pregnant women and is viscerally disgusting to boot, running around inches from (on?) one’s sleeping body is a major problem, well, I can’t explain it to you. But if you do understand, you’ll get why I’m feeling a little panicky.
We’re stuck until the end of the month, or until the exterminator solves the problem, whichever comes first, and since I refuse to go back into that apartment, we’re by my in-laws, who very kindly (and they are, always, very kind), invited us to stay as long as we want.
But that’s the thing. I don’t want. I hate imposing on them for this favor. I hate whenever they’re excessively nice to me (which is often). Because I know that they have expectations that I’m going to disappoint. In almost any circumstance, I’d rather not accept their kindness, than do so, and then anger them, when, for example, a short time later, I name my child a non-Jewish name, displaying what will look to them like a bout of mean spirited ungrateful lack of consideration. I’d rather remain apart than be like family with them, and have to deal with facing their inevitable disappointment.
The only thing worse than angering these good people who have been so kind to me, would be sleeping with a mouse.
So gid shabbis from Boro Park.Printable Version