Twinkle: My China Narrowly Avoided Being Tainted with Non Kosher Meat

It has truly been forever since Daddy Rabbit has been active, and we all need to contribute to make it a relevant place to post our ideas. I realize I've been posting less because of my more Zen relationship with Fun Sink, but last night she made me mad, so here I am.

She had this big idea to do a Shabbat dinner picnic at the JCC. She wanted to pick up Momma's BBQ and have us all picnic poolside and swim after dinner. She had a whole vision, but Mr. Twinkle needed to work and I needed to check out after a week of carting my eldest to and from camp and swim team practice, and entertaining the rest of the crew. The last thing we wanted was a late pool night--we just wanted to get them in bed and be done with it--but we decided to roll with it because she had her vision of a picnic.

Well, the storms came right about the time we were supposed to meet up at the J, and the rain plan was to "picnic" at our house. I'd checked the forecast and had already set the table, just in case: linen tablecloth (only because I had to add a leaf to my table to accommodate eight people, and that was the tablecloth that fit), but I made it more casual with flamingo placemats and napkins from Pomegranate. I also set the table with my white Herend china (the "meat" china, since they insisted on me getting two sets), and my "meat" sterling. I knew they were bringing Momma's, and they don't eat carryout on their real dishes, because carryout would taint the purity of the kosher Twinkle family dishes and flatware. They always use paper and plastic for carryout. But, I thought misguidedly, this is my house, and this is how I do things.

I like setting a pretty table. I don't mind washing everything by hand. I want my children to appreciate nice things and to know what to do when they're invited to someone's house and confronted with a formal table setting. I'm not saying every meal is formal, but we use our nice things on the regular, and my children are used to them. And if I'm serving dinner for eight people, and it's Shabbat (when you're supposed to use your nicest things--one thing I really like about the concept), you'd better damn well believe I'm going to set a beautiful table. None of that actually matters, though--the bottom line is that it's my house, and that's how I like to do things.

Mr. Twinkle and I actually had a conversation about it on the way back from the J (where we had all tried to meet, sticking to Fun Sink's original vision until it was storming brutally, and only then admitting the picnic was probably not going to happen). Mr. Twinkle explained that he didn't want to use our china for non-kosher meat, and he knew his parents weren't going to like it, and he didn't like it either. I reminded him that we've used our plates for carryout before when we've entertained other times our almost nine years of marriage, and I reminded him of his sister's house (back when they used to eat more than raw nuts and twigs), and how they'd put Chinese carryout on their dishes. He said they don't even keep kosher, and I was like, "That's your answer? How is it OK for them not to keep kosher and use whatever plates they want, but we do but we're going to get in trouble for using our plates with carryout tonight?" And my point, really, was that it's our house and we can serve dinner on whatever plates we want, as can my SIL. At the end, he agreed with me (and suggested we get some dishes that we only eat carryout on; I'm thinking these). But he said it would probably help him to just let his parents use whatever plates they wanted. Since so much of our lives is tamping down the crazy in our parents, I was graciously going to put away the plates, in the spirit of supporting my husband, because I know he would do the same for me.

We made it home before Fun Sink, and I told him I was going to put the plates and flatware away, and he said, "No, it's ok. I want you to leave them out." I protested a minute but he protested back, so I left the plates.

Enter Fun Sink in a flurry of bags and coolers. I was putting ice in the julep cups when Fun Sink's mom came into my kitchen saying, "The meat's traiff! The meat's traiff! You don't want to put that on your dishes!" Fuck you, lady--you eat shrimp, so don't talk to me about traiff. Also, don't use the word traiff in my house. This is America, not the old country, and I don't speak shtetl and neither do you. 

Fun Sink was at the door saying something to Mr. Twinkle about traiff, but when she came into my kitchen, she was all, "Oh, I just don't want you to have a big mess to clean up! Oh! I just didn't want you to do any work." At least she knew better than to say the word traiff to me. The next thing I know, she's clearing away my dishes, and my sterling flatware is in a big, unorganized pile on the kitchen counter. First rule of sterling flatware ownership: don't put it in a big pile--stack it neatly and count it so nothing gets lost, you fucking cretin.

I was fuming, and I know that perhaps Mr. Twinkle could have stood up for me, or I could have stood up for myself, but it's just not worth it over some dishes. Meanwhile she was buzzing around my kitchen as if she owned the whole place, asking everyone if they needed anything. I just opened two bottles of Prosecco, one for everybody else and one for me. They didn't even drink theirs; what a waste. And I knew they wouldn't, but just like using real china, I also believe in giving people a full pour of wine. At their house you get paper plates and napkins and a thimbleful of wine. At mine you get china and linen and a full pour, and that's what matters--hospitality, and the little bit of extra work that makes things nice--and that's what my daughters will see.

I look at it as bigger than Fun Sink, but actually a lesson in marriage. I took the path of least resistance to avoid trouble for Mr. Twinkle, and he's done the same for me on other occasions. Our parents, who put so many demands and requirements on us, will never see how their tyranny makes us a team, but it does.

Julep: and another thing --

I've got my crankypants on today, so I might as well come here to write up what I meant to post on Saturday:

Saturday was a gorgeous day and the first weekend of the summer (i.e. post-Memorial Day). Literally everyone in our entire neighborhood was outside, either walking a dog or headed to or from the pool. So who turned on her sprinkler, and carefully arranged it so that it was, at every moment, spraying some portion of the sidewalk in front of her house?  And not a little quick spritz that you could run past and just get hit by a few drops; no, she had it set so that no matter which way the water was falling, a pedestrian passing her house would get the full force.

Crazy Neighbor Bunky strikes again.