My house phone was calling when I got home tonight. The only people who call me on a landline are telemarketers, politicians (who are even a lower order of species than telemarketer) and Uncle Slappy, who is the apotheosis of humanity. It was, of course, Slappy.
I make fun of Slappy in this space. But I love him, for all his quirks, idiosyncrasies, all his nonsense, all his insults and barbs. Tonight he called with some Slappified nonsense.
"Shmendrick," he said when I picked up the phone. "They just opened up in Boca, you should excuse the expression, a combination bagel shop and travel agency."
"What's it called," Uncle Slappy, I said, readying myself for what was coming.
"From schmear to eternity."
And he hung up.