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DMC’S: On the Road

As told to Leah Gebber

So, I’m on the road with my cousin Amy. We’re heading up north toManchester for another cousin’s wedding. Amy’s parents can’t make it — some kind of work conference inCalifornia, and they left Amy behind. So that’s how Amy’s with us in the car, traveling. My neck hurts ’cuz I already had an updo done inLondon before we left, and I don’t want to rest my head against the back of the seat and risk ruining it.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

mini vanAmy and I don’t see each other too often. Amy’s father is my father’s brother, and we’re sooo not close. I mean, she’s sweet and all, but even though we’re the same age, we’re on a different page. Correction: she belongs to a different planet. Frum-wise, also. I go to a Bais Yaakov, wear tunics and ballet-style shoes and no black eyeliner. Her family is more modern, she wears short jean skirts that just about cover her knees and her hair is way past her shoulders and she doesn’t put it up at all.

Whenever we see each other, it’s awkward. And now we’re stuck next to each other in the car for the next four hours.

She’s taken off her denim boots (she won’t wear leather because it comes from a dead animal) and her feet smell. A mixture of cheese and chicken soup. Treif. And pretty gross.

For the 18th time in the last ten minutes, I wished my parents would allow me an MP3. They’re old-fashioned like that. But plugging myself into some music would give me some privacy. See, Amy talks. A lot. And I have to nod and listen. For the next four hours.


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