Friday, March 24, 2006

Come On Baby, Light My Fire...

The hubby and I were at the brit milah (circumcision) for one of hubby's best friend's new son. We were given the honor of passing the baby from the mother to the father, a segula (a good luck thingie) for a married couple without children. All went off without a hitch, we smiled nicely for the cameras and dealt well with the overprotective 4 year old brother who went slightly beserk when he saw his new sibling being handed to adults other than family.

After the ceremony, which my friends and I spent wincing in the back, as the males gathered around the mohel (cicumciser) unconsciously crossing their legs and placing their hands protectively over their genital region, we all walked to a hall a few minutes away from the shul for a lovely brunch. I'm a big fan of Israeli-style catering, and feasted well on a variety of cheeses and roasted vegetables.

As the event drew to a close, hubby and I made the rounds to say goodbye. I leaned over a table to hug one of the new grandmas, and make some small talk. Suddenly, smoke began to blow in my face, and three women to my left began to simultaneously shriek and wallop me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was the cause of the smoke and panic. My hair had caught fire. I have blonde, curly, butt-lenght hair and it had come close enough to a tea light on the table to act as kindling. Not much was burnt off, i.e. no emergency dash to get a pre-shabbat haircut, but it definately was the cause of some decent conversation on the way out and made for a somewhat singed ride home.


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