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Conversations With Legendary NYC Ladies in My Parents' Building
An Upper West Side Fantasia
In the past few weeks I have visited my mom in her apartment several times. Fortunately it has been extraordinary in terms of encounters with Jewish women of a certain age.
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ME, LOOKING AT HER WHITE, FLUFFY DOG: What’s her name?
WOMAN IN ELEVATOR: His. His name.
WOMAN: It’s fine. He has feminine eyes.
ME: Excuse me?
WOMAN: His name is Jelly.
ME: Oh is there a Peanut Butter, too?
ME: Peanut Butter and Jelly?
WOMAN: Say goodbye to this woman, Jelly.
WOMAN IN ELEVATOR: I’m going to 9.
ME: I think the doorman already pushed 9.
WOMAN: It never works when Craig does it. You have to press it twice.
[I PRESS THE LIT BUTTON]
ME: That should do it!
WOMAN: I hope. Once I sat here for five minutes not moving. I thought I was going to die in here.
ME: It’s good you didn’t!
WOMAN IN LOBBY: You’re Robin Bell’s daughter.
ME: Yes! You know her?
WOMAN: I know she got one of my Amazon packages!
ME: Oh! I’ll ask her about it!
WOMAN: I already have! She denies it.
ME: I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.
WOMAN: You’re sure.
ME: Maybe it’s still out for delivery?
WOMAN: It says it was delivered.
WOMAN: In November.
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