Shimshon’s Siyata D’shmayah

Some frequent readers will remember my now not-so-recent haircut. After two comments people independently made on the very day I was trying to decide about growing it out, I decided to keep it that way. Right now, it’s kind of long and shaggy, but boy am I glad I didn’t cut it yet.

We went to my grandmother’s apartment, the grand family meeting place, today to visit a relative who’d just flown in. Halfway through the trip, I sat on the sofa behind the window. Then I ran my fingers through my hair. (No, that’s not the cause of the limp shagginess, though it’s probably not helping much.) To check, I did it again.

“Hey, my hair is wet!”

“It was raining out before.” I hadn’t been out in three hours. Not to mention that it was only the last half inch of my hair finely speckled with mist.

I turned around to check if maybe the window had been left open. I found a four inch diameter puddle of water on the windowsill– and the window was shut. My parents came to check. To make a long story short, a wet windowsill is a small problem when the entire back wall is sopping.

As much as this sounds like an unlikely way to find the issue, the chances of it being found any other way were even smaller. Thank you G-d, for long limp hair!

I can’t thank you enough

One of our school’s play heads (read: insanely busy person juggling production, seminary applications and a full day of class), must have thanked me at least four times for missing a class I don’t need to attend to sew (read: one of my favorite activities) a costume draft for one of the costumes girls (read: a good friend whom I’d do just about anything for.)

Four times! She deserves a reward better than play head!

Thinking about others

Play breakout was at our school  this week. I got a fairly minor part, but this isn’t about me.

Even though I had promised myself that I wouldn’t get upset, that for various reasons a big part wouldn’t be practical for me, and that if I was honest, I simply couldn’t act well enough, it did hurt a little. The mains are well, so amazing. Really cool this year. You know what I mean- if our play was a 5000 page novel, I’d read it just for them.

So when someone, (not a close friend but I’m working on getting along with her,) asked me what part I had, I couldn’t keep a slight note of regret out of my voice.

She told me what I’d been telling myself all along, but she made it seem real. “You know, it’s really the little parts that make a difference. They’re the ones everyone remembers. In Aladdin, the genie has an even smaller part than the tiger. But without him, there would be no story.” Of course, I’m paraphrasing, but how could I remember something so perfect word for word?

I thanked her for her sincere words and walked away, remembering that at least I got a part at all. And it wasn’t even just two lines. And then I remembered something.

“So, what about you? What part did you get?”

“Oh, me? I’m (insert main part here.)”

Unbelievable.