Shtetl Remix

After picking out a package to send my cookies in and testing it out to see if all the baggies* fit, I realized that I had left my permanent marker back in my car. I looked at the pile of cookies sitting on the Post Office table and my bag and debated whether to try pen or run back to my car. There were about three other people in the room and I realized that as yummy as the cookies looked and as inviting as my bag (that doesn't even have something to close it at the top) was, no one was going to take anything. I do, after all, live in the suburbs. And then, while walking back into the Post Office, I passed my father's second cousin and remembered that I don't just live in the suburbs. I live in the shtetl suburbs. And sometimes I love that.


*I sent a package with cookies to camp for my cousin for her birthday a couple of weeks ago. She requested another package with cookies and our friend Ariel requested his own as well. While speaking to another friend at that camp, I mentioned that I was going to be sending Zahava and Ariel a package. Which was a big mistake. Later, I got a voicemail message from my cousin that she and another friend, Yedidya, wanted a package for themselves because Ariel, apparently, doesn't know how to share. Because they were acting like a big bunch of babies, I just made a batch and divided the cookies evenly into little bags labeled "Zahava's Cookies," "Ariel's Cookies," "Yoni's Cookies," etc.