"barukh ata adonai eloheinu melekh ha’olam bore pri hagafen" Which means Mommy has to let out Daddy's pants after all this Brisket.
Benjamin Kissell
What makes a gay heart weep kosher tears quite like a hilariously bad Seder story? Well, if you're a Gentile, I guess not much of anything [whoops] but, let's not go there.
I'm sure we can all laugh together at the sheer absurdity of my first Seder in college. At the time, I was a student, worked as a caterer and had a budding social life [versus my treasured nights at home with my cats these days].
.....
Outfitted in low-rise jeans, punk boots, mascara, “Dropkick Murphys” tee and a seriously fierce feaux-hawk I sauntered into the second-floor of our catering offices looking for my sunglasses (left-behind the day before after another mother-of-the-bride-batshit-crazy wedding downtown).
The plan was to get together with friends and hit the gay club downtown. On Thursdays it was 80s Retro Night there, hence the pseudo-punk and I was ready to get my drink on and dance to “Like a Prayer” [obligatory song for 80s Retro Night].
I didn’t even top the stairs before I heard an overly-enthusiastic … “BENJI!”
Now, when you hear an all-too cheerful exultation of your name [even an annoying nickname] you KNOW something fishy is up.
It was my boss, Pescha, approaching me …
“Bubbula, you’re free right now, aren’t you?”
“Uhm … I mean, yes, I'm not running anywhere at the moment; but I really only stopped in to pick up my sunglasses … I, uh, have plans tonight.”
[No, it is NOT apparent that I have an issue saying no to authority figures, is it?]
“But, you don’t have plans now?”
“No, not at this exact moment – why?”
“Good, because I need help downstairs; the Jewish Student Organization is coming by soon for the Passover Seder. We’re hosting it for the students who can't get home.”
“But-t, I – uh … uh, well – I guess if I don’t stay later than 7?”
Promising that the event would run no later than 6:30 that worked, it left me enough time to get all re-dolled up and to grab my friend Hana and run.
Changing into a cobalt dress shirt and black tie, eschewing the black slacks in favor of my jeans (two reasons:
1. none of the black slacks really fit me well, either too-small girls’ pants or the guys’ which were too big
2. the jeans were so tight I'd all-but crisco’d myself to get into them I didn't wanna think of the ordeal to get myself in and out of them in my little cubbyhole of an office).
And this was the era BEFORE skinny jeans came back ... I was totally ahead of the curve.
I grabbed a black vest just-in-case.
The Heads of the Jewish Student Organization, a young semi-cute boy and a very attractive young lady – very shiksa in her blonde hair and pale dress – arrived and helped us lay out the Seder plates and such.
By the time sunset neared, the guests had arrived and gathered around 5 properly attired tables.
I walked the kosher wine and grape-juice to the various settings and matzo crackers as appetizers and caught at least 3 of the cute boys’ eyes darting both to crotch and ass level [hmm, Jewish AND gay?] as well as catching this REALLY sweet young guy’s eye as I proffered him the water, my crotch apparently just-below shoulder level – he blushed almost as crimson as the wine in front of him.
I should’ve really wondered why I was getting this attention, but I didn’t.
By the time I had meandered around each table, making sure all of our guests were comfortable and good, and making it back into the ante-room, I was well-aware of more than a few girls and guys outright staring at me.
Weird.
As soon as the door behind me had closed Pescha was at my side, an embarrassed grin on her suntanned Bubbe face. Hana was doubled over in a giggle-fit.
“Benjamin, you CANNOT go back out there like that … you are giving those poor girls [and gay boys] whiplash!”
It seems, the tight jeans I'd chosen to attract attention for dancing were doing their job; causing these poor Seder-goers to get whiplash from trying to stare at both my crotch and ass – which were both pronounced in them.
My bad. [Or a great date-catching plan - you decide.]
Not being able to wear a pair of the black slacks upstairs, I opted the simple-fix; grabbing a black apron and making sure it covered up my crotch and at least minimized my booty’s appearance.
After that? The Seder went by quietly and in proper reverence [my bulge/booty causing no more stir … but, at least, I’d like to think that my overt-sexuality had made for some good stories to be told around the next Seder table].
Hana and I made our excuses and re-primped and headed out. Of course, after walking the 10 blocks to get to the club from campus, we found that it was one of the arbitrary nights when the bouncer was checking IDs and I was the only 21 yr old in our group.
So, we did what anyone thwarted would do: we ditched the dance-plans and did TGI Friday’s instead. Lame? A little. Fun? Definitely. A very interesting first Passover for me.
Moishe led the Jews on Exodus and I? Led my friends to dinner. Not quite the same, but, there you are.
