Uncle Slappy and Aunt Sylvie surprised me this morning. Slappy called at 7AM. That's not unusual. He is an early riser and always has been.
"Schmendrick," he began "Sylvie and I thought we'd pop up, see the Super Bowl with you two and stay a few days."
My wife will be out of town most of next week and I'm not one for surprises but Uncle Slappy continued.
"We're on our way to the airport now. We're on a 9:30 flight."
"We can't wait to see you," I told the old man. "You know you're always welcome."
Uncle Slappy and Aunt Sylvie arrived from LaGuardia just minutes ago and Slappy took the reins of what will be our very Jewish Super Bowl party. My brother-in-law is coming over with his girlfriend and my niece, and my wife's cousin Gary is in from San Francisco. The six of us will be watching the game and the commercials together.
"There will be eight of us," Slappy said, "order sandwiches for 12."
My wife, on the phone with Ben's, the deli famous for its Shiva platters, raised a single delicate eyebrow and then said into the phone, "Yes, we need sandwiches for 12."
Slappy continued running things.
"We need cole slaw, potato salad and an order of sour pickles," he instructed. "Not half sours like at Norman Weinstein's Shiva. Feh on half sours."
My wife repeated the Sage's order into the phone.
"And a schtickel of cake and some rugelach," the Old Man said.
"Why don't you just order a coronary?" Aunt Sylvie jabbed.
"If I wanted your opinion I would have given it to you," Slappy riposted.
It could very well be a long weekend.