Well here's a fucked-up story.
I'm driving the mother-in-law to Toronto.
You've read about how Jewish women like nothing better than having you drive them somewhere.
Now I've got not one but TWO Jewish women in the car.
So the farm manager is sitting in the front and the Bubby is in the back.
Bubby. The Bubbinator. The Bubbatohla.
This is a serious woman and you don't deal lightly with her.
I'm trying to make small talk, so I get to telling Bubby about my last speeding ticket.
"It was right along this stretch of highway. I was distracted because me and junior were deep into a talk about better ways to treat sewage... and I was so engrossed in the conversation I sailed over this hill, this one right here, and I totally forgot the speed limit drops to 50!"
As I'm telling this tale to the Bubbatohla a black SUV coming the other way puts it's cop lights on.
For fucks sakes!
I'm distracted telling Bubbs about the speeding ticket I got when I was distracted, and godamit, I get another speeding ticket!
110 in an 80. Thank God I wasn't in the 50 zone yet!
The dude was kind enough to cut it back to 95. No points lost.
We continue on our way and the conversation eventually turns to Uncle Murray.
We've been saddled with the burden of clearing out Murray's apartment now that he's in a home.
Murray's suffered diabetes forever. Just recently, before he went into the home, they took his big toes off.
In the meantime, we've been selling off his personal possessions.
The bed went first, then a bunch of small stuff.
The whole time I've got my eye on a pair of really nice dress shoes. Harts if I'm not mistaken.
Light brown. Just my size.
Made in Canada by old-school shoe-builders. New Brunswick, I believe.
Not one of your mainstream shoe brands built by eight year old kids in China.
So Bubby says, you know they're going to take Murray's feet off next week?
I didn't say a word.
But I knew right away those size 11 Harts were mine!
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