During this surreal phone conversation, we were hastily led upstairs, downstairs and through carpeted hallways where we were able to get remarkably up-close and personal with the show’s celebrity judges, until we were finally seated inside. That is when we discovered that, despite our late arrival and the withdrawal of our guaranteed entry, we had been granted excellent seats. Better still, a few prime spots were available even closer to the stage, and our three boys were invited to occupy them.
The next couple of hours passed in a blur of excitement and good cheer, as act after act took to the stage and wowed or disappointed the audience in turn. By the time the show ended, we were virtually as breathless from the experience as the auditioning performers themselves.
Then we streamed out of the theater along with a mass of exuberant humanity, and our shaliach’s wife squeezed her hand through an opening in the waiting area. She and her daughter waited for their turn on the next show, to return the “lost-and-found” wallet – 100 percent intact.
Our on-again, off-again day was far from over. We returned to our borrowed sedan to find the temperature gauge dangerously pointing to High. Baruch Hashem, my in-laws are admirably active senior citizens, but they seldom venture out of their neighborhood in their own car. So this long stop-and-go trek had wreaked havoc on their cosseted vehicle. Having no alternative, we exited the turnpike and found the last service station in the city. Unfortunately, a few hundred other cars had also found it. It took a full hour to fill up with gas and anti-freeze and be on our way once more.
By that time, most of our kids had already opted out of attending that night’s sheva berachos. My better half suggested that we could save time by detouring to the sheva berachos on our way home, but my livid response alerted him to the fact that I preferred to show up late rather than looking like something the cat dragged in.
Between the traffic and potholes that defined our trip back to my in-laws, we arrived at their home, exhausted and bedraggled, half an hour after we were due to be at the sheva berachos. Our older son, my husband and I hastily freshened up and changed before spending a few more minutes searching for the elusive car keys. Conceding defeat, we borrowed the sedan once more and set off for the evening’s festivities. The other children gratefully sat down to a delicious dinner prepared by my mother-in-law, and spent a quiet evening at home.
The GPS estimated our journey would take 31 minutes; ostensibly we would still be able to arrive fashionably late. When we actually arrived, however – over an hour and a halflater – all the other participants were wearing their winter coats and gloves, just as we were. The difference: they were all bundled up to leave. Somewhat abashed, we exchanged greetings and mazel-tov wishes and sent them on their way. That is, all except a few of our machatanim and the chassan and kallah themselves. One of the gracious hostesses thoughtfully prepared attractive plates of sheva berachos food for us, and we sat for a few precious moments enjoying the delicious fare (which included a five-star dessert) while my machateinista joyfully filled us in on what we had missed. Then we said our farewells and drove another hour and a half back home.
While en route we had a belated light bulb moment, and asked one of our sons who had remained home with his grandparents to resume the search for the missing keys. But this time, he used a flashlight, a la bedikas chametz, and recited the tefillah of Rav Meir Baal Haness. It was not long before we received the jubilant call: The keys had been found at last, hiding in a floor cavity of the minivan.