“Such a schlemiel Sarah’s seeing,” said Shamira.
“The sort who schleps in for supper at seven when he
was invited at six. Sorry-ass schmuck.”
Aunt Sophie, sporting the same schmatta she’s worn since
the seventies, sighs. “Never simple for Sarah. She
schooled at City and now seems to savor those
simpletons and shegetzes. Shitheads who schmooze
soup to shtup!” She giggles. “And sure, I know from
shtupping, don’t look so surprised.”
Shamira, stirring soup (matzoh balls soft as satin),
says, “Stanley should have stepped up seven years ago.
Sarah could do worse than the cantor of our shul.”
Sophie smiles. “Sarah with Stanley? Sterling cantor,
but that schnozz! And I suspect he’s a snore in the sack.
He schpritzes during prayers and his spiel is too slick.
If Sarah doesn’t size them up,” she snickers, “there’s always
Sylvie the yenta!”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter S and the extensive Yiddish I learned in my youth. Always fascinated with Jewish culture, my daughter’s father is Jewish. Consult Wiki for words you don’t know! Also at Poets United, my poetic home. Amy