A lapsed Jew, but, well, still Jewish - and he's out Christmas shopping a week after Hanukkah.
He added, with some bitterness, that his girlfriend didn't seem to get that, traditionally, Christmas Day for most Jewish families involves no rituals beyond catching a movie matinée or a trip out to a Chinese restaurant. Hell, his family never really celebrated Hanukkah or the other minor holidays; they did Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, called it good.
But she was his girlfriend. And it was her holiday. Never mind that she'd just given him a list, told him to go buy shit for a holiday he'd never celebrated. He'd accepted the invitation to have dinner with her parents on December 25. He thought it sounded cool - until she'd given him the mandatory list.
Poor dumb bastard.
He really believed that dating a woman for less than three months somehow obligated him to buy five people he'd yet to meet acceptable holiday gifts.
* * * *
Acceptable?
Acceptable.
Acceptable, as in self-help books written by evangelical megachurch witchdoctors and crap about the New World Order being the product of the supposedly diabolical United Nations.
I asked him if her family knew, well, that he was Jewish.
Probably not. His girlfriend forgot half of the time herself, said even discussing religion made her uncomfortable. Hell, she'd told him that he'd just love Mom's Christmas ham and the prayer service with Brother ____ Christmas Eve...
He said he'd been thinking about that ever since she'd given him the list. He hadn't bought a single thing. He hadn't even known that she came from such a religious family.
I suggested that he give himself an acceptable Christmas gift: a new girlfriend.
He laughed nervously.
Poor dumb bastard.
* * * *
He took a drag off of the cigarette I'd bummed him. He'd seen me exit the electronics chain superstore, pull out my pack, and figured that a cigarette break beat the alternative.
"Man, did you see that Latin chick?"
"The one in the white pants with the - ?"
"- OH MY GOD! THAT THONG! Dude! Have you seen Superbad?"
"Dude. I rarely miss a nice ass."
Seriously. Nice ass. Not a single heterosexual man or lesbian could've resisted at least, well, looking. The black widow tattoo across her lower back seemed to be tangled up between purple elastic and very transparent low-rise white cotton.
Acceptable conversation?
Sure. Just as acceptable as giving a Jewish boyfriend a Christmas list, or insisting that he buy total strangers gifts simply out of courtesy.
I suggested that, well, if he'd been staring through those transparent slacks long enough to memorize the color of the Latina's underwear, his relationship was as good as over.
He laughed again, this time with more confidence. Bailing after three months, right before the holidays, sure beats having to suffer through living room showings of The Passion or the subsequent proselytization speeches.
* * * *
The Latina in question walked out just as we were finishing our shopping break. Maybe 5'7 or 5'8, plum-tinted shoulder length hair, bangs covering one eye and the bridge of her nose. She was probably in her mid 30s, one of those women who looked ridiculously, wickedly young for her age. Her platform shoes clicked against the pavement as she carried her two tiny bags towards the parking lot.
The Jewish cat crumpled the Gentile girlfriend's approved Christmas list as he eye-fucked that poor woman all the way to her car. Honestly, I've seen middle school boys with more subtlety.
And sure enough, she dropped one of her bags just as she opened the trunk, bent over, with that purple thong strangling the life out of that black widow tat ...
"Yeah. Fuck it, dude."
Silence.
"You know, she's probably Catholic, right?"
"Really?"
Poor dumb bastard.
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