Happy 5766!

Monday we went to Long Island to Rob's parent's house for Rosh Hashanah, and I met the family. I had met his immediate family before, and they were all there for dinner, but I got to meet the extended family, too: the uncle with the video camera, the cousin from Philly, and Uncle Allen, who four separate people warned me about. "Whatever you do," I was told, "do NOT let him corner you. Don't mention pain medication. Don't mention Bush. Don't mention hospitals. Try, even, to avoid conversations about the weather." I did pretty well.

I had agonized over what to wear to temple (I'm not good at getting dressed up to go anywhere, let alone to a religious ceremony of a religion I'm not a part of). I called Rob's sister-in-law to ask questions. "You can ask me anything!" Rob told me, but I didn't trust his answers about skirt length. My skirt hit me mid-knee, and I wore a sweater with it and heels that gave me an extra three inches per leg.

"You look nice," Rob said.

"Nice? Excuse me, have you seen my legs in this skirt? You can do better than 'nice'."

I had bought really nice boots to go with my skirt. I tried them on, and they looked really good, and I was happy to have comfortable, hip footwear.

"You're wearing cowboy boots to temple?" Rob asked, and gave me his do-what-you-want-but-I-don't-think-you-should face. We went back and forth about it; I deferred, and spent the entire time we were at Temple pointing out all the other women who were wearing cowboy boots. There were at least half a dozen. Hey, I deferred, but not quietly.

Rob wore a tie, and a yarmulke and a tallit, which is a prayer shawl all the males wear. Rob + yarmulke + tallit + tie = very handsome. Which is not really the point...

L'Shana Tova!