For some reason, I was standing washing dishes an hour before Shabbos. Well, maybe there was a reason. It went, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Shabbos, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Shabbos. At least it seemed that way in the dizzying swish of Yom Tov-weekday-Yom Tov–Chol HaMoed–Yom Tov, etc. that constituted the hectic yamim noraim season. Well, I was just half out of the last Wednesday, and now it was Yom Tov, no, Shabbos, and of course I had not washed the dishes yet.
So I guess that’s why I was washing dishes.
The other thing I guess is that the reason the dishes fell is because they were, naturally, on the dish rack, which was, naturally, on the washing machine, and the washing machine was on, because when you only have between Wednesday and Yom Tov – no, sorry, Shabbos – to do all your laundry since – I don’t know, was it the summer – then you are sure gonna be doing laundry today. And lots of it!
And when my washing machine is on, it happens to shake, and I guess it shook too much, and the next thing I knew, there was a loud crash. I closed my eyes and kept washing dishes, because it absolutely did not make sense to give myself a heart attack, but eventually I did look, and, wouldn’t you know it, the dish rack had fallen down, and yes, dishes had broken.
I assessed the damage. There was the black ceramic bowl I needed for oatmeal. Sigh. And all the glass – what was that? The microwave plate. Great.
I did the only thing that made sense. I picked up the phone, and, laughing hysterically, I dialed my cousin Fish.
Fish has been blissfully married to Lieba for about nine months. Their shidduch came about like this: Lieba was standing in her kitchen in Detroit, washing dishes. Bling! Down went two plates. Crash. I guess even glamorous people crack dishes. Mom, hearing the telltale sound, called out, “Ah! It should be for a mazel tov!”
So saying, Lieba and her brother both became engaged in short order.
Two dishes.
So there I stood, an hour to Shabbos, glass, ceramic, and sundry dishes sprawled across my unwashed floor, and I stood there, cackling on the phone to Fish. “I’m just calling to tell you,” I explained, “that two people we know are soon going to get engaged, bezras Hashem.”
“I mean,” I hastily amended, “when one person gets engaged, it generally means that two people are getting engaged. But I meant that two people are getting engaged to two other people.”
“I figured,” Fish replied solemnly.
“So,” he continued cautiously, “I’m, uh, assuming that you and I know this person, or, uh, people…?”
I could just hear the wheels turning in his mind, and giggled at the thought.
“Oh, yes, definitely,” I responded. “The thing is, though, I don’t know who they are. Yet.”
Silence.
“Remember when Lieba was standing in her kitchen washing dishes….”
“Ahhhhhh,” proclaimed Fish when I was done, a man satisfied with understanding. “So you broke two dishes, huh?”
I confess that this led me to complain bitterly about the loss of the microwave plate, after which my cousin reassured me that it could be easily replaced. Note to self: when you buy another black bowl, buy a glass plate for micro too.
But how to remember to buy a black plate? I picked up a chip from the floor and put it on my computer. Perfect reminder.
Hung up phone, turned around three times, tried to decide where to start, and went back to washing dishes.