If you touch them, you catch Jewish

I am in the habit of looking at people too long. Too long would be defined as “At all” by New York standards. In Texas, I loved to stare at people, because sooner or later, they would feel so uncomfortable that they would forcibly say “Hi,” and “How are you?” In New York, people think you are a certified nut-job if you look too long. My favorite is when New Yorkers passing by look back and catch me looking, and then immediately shift their eyes downward. I feel as though I have made contact with Moonpeople. It’s mildly misanthropic and against social mores, like turning around to face everyone in an elevator.

Today, on my way to the Laundromat (wrinklin’ and stinklin’ cause it’s laundry day), I stared down an Orthodox Jew. This is a bit lofty for me, since they are a fairly exclusionary bunch. Anyway, I guess I stared a little too long for this guy’s tastes, because he stopped me, smiled and asked, “Are you Jewish?” I said, “No,” and he sort of ambled away mumbling something about having a good day.

Here is why this monumental: Apart from an occasionally crazy subway Orthodox Jew, I have never been approached by one. Ever.

I think it is because my boyfriend is from The Tribe. Since we are getting married, I think some of his Judaism has rubbed off onto me. That is why the Orthodox dude thought I was a She-brew.

I can already hear the distant growl of my Russell upon hearing that a man approached me. It’s okay honey, I sent him packin’.