Prattle on
Monday, April 25, 2005
So, on Saturday I was invited to the first Seder of Passover 2005. Love it. I love holiday dinners of any kind and while I am neither Jewish nor religious, I really like tradition and I really really like large meals that celebrate traditions. Let me tell you folks, I had been looking forward to this for 2 weeks. You should see me at any sort of traditional gathering. I am in it to win it! Let’s eat, let’s talk, let’s drink together.

The meal was planned by two of my friends and they did an excellent job (although it was touch and go for a while in terms of the location). Anyway, my friend made this 24 page booklets for the Hagada – I think that is how you spell it, I mean that’s how it is pronounced - and we read the whole thing together. I dare say, everyone’s favourite part was the leaning to the left and drinking wine bit. In all honesty, my favourite was the part about kids. I really think traditions and holidays are only complete if there are children around, but I’m a cheese ball.

I think Passover was made for me. I mean I really do. Why, because questions are encouraged. ENCOURAGED. I am FULL of questions. Also, there is random singing – well, not so random, but there is singing. Also there a little treasure hunt for matza and drinking in binge format. AWESOME! Then when you finally get to eat everything tastes so good, because you are SO hungry!

While the dinner was great there is always a freak that has to do something irritating. There was this guy there. We’ll call him Steve because that is his real name – I think. Anyway, I knew Steve was a bit of a weirdo when he read from the Hagada booklet like he was the voice-over for a CBC documentary. Please help yourself.

That was irritating enough, but then at the end of the night as I was having a conversation with a friend of mine, Steve did the unthinkable. Without even saying anything to me, without even having a real conversation with me the guy walks up and puts BOTH of his hands into my afro. That’s right, he touched my hair. You can imagine my anger. This guy doesn’t know me from Adam, yet he feels that he can pet me. So, I look at him and say “Get your hands OUT of my hair.” He recoiled in terror. As he should have, I was mad. What is wrong with people like this? I refused to make things more comfortable for him or to laugh it off. He needed to get a message. The message: Stay the hell away from me, freak.

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