More unsolicited advice from a Yiddishe Mama
Listen up, you schmucks and schmuckettes! Gertie’s back from her… let’s call it an extended spa retreat. A bit of R&R. A touch of self-reflection. And maybe a smidge of court-mandated meditation. But who’s counting? I’m feeling fresher than a newly baked bagel. And ready to dive back into your meshugas with both hands and a three-martini breakfast.
Buckle up, buttercups — Gertie’s about to drop some truth bombs that’ll make your ancestors roll in their graves!
CD’s Noisy Neighbors
Dear Gertie, What can I do about the new neighbors across the street who let their kids drive around on noisy four-wheelers all day?
Well, well, well, if it isn’t CD — short for “Chronically Desperate for peace and quiet,” I assume? Sit your tuchus down and listen up, you noise-sensitive nebbish! Here’s the skinny.
Oy, the soundtrack of suburban hell, am I right? Listen, Bubelah, you’ve got options. First, try the direct approach — schmoose with the parents. Maybe invite them over for a nice cup of tea. Maybe something stronger, if you catch my drift. Or bring over a nice kugel baked with some of those magic mushrooms the kids like and casually mention how the racket is affecting your beauty sleep. Lord knows some of us need it more than others.
If that doesn’t work, check your local noise ordinances. Nothing says “welcome to the neighborhood,” like a friendly visit from Officer Shapiro. Or better yet, invite the little rascals over and teach them a nice, quiet game of Canasta. By the time you’re done explaining the rules, they’ll be too exhausted to ride anything but the school bus.
And if all else fails? Well, there’s always the option of “accidentally” leaving some nails on their driveway or a little sugar in their gas tank. Just kidding! (Or am I?) Don’t forget to give Officer Shapiro a little something for looking the other way.
Hannah’s Exhausting Social Life
Dear Gertie, Sometimes I wish I could spend more time with friends, but when I do, I feel exhausted. Can you help?
Oy vey, Hannah Banana! Feeling like a worn-out schmatta after hanging with your friends? Time for Gertie to school you on the fine art of selective socializing, you meshugana party animal!
Bubbala, welcome to the club. It’s called “getting older.” And trust me, the membership fees are a real pain in the tuchus. Here’s the deal — it’s quality over quantity. You don’t need to be out every night like you’re auditioning for the next season of “The Real Housewives of Boca Raton.” Pick your social battles.
Try scheduling shorter hangouts or activities that don’t drain you as much. Maybe a nice, quiet game of Mahjong instead of a wild night out? And remember, it’s okay to say “no” sometimes. Your real friends will understand if you need a night in with a good book and a cup of high tea. Maybe roll a few.
Just don’t become a complete hermit, or I’ll have to come drag you out myself! And it won’t be pretty.
Now, let’s tackle a few more of life’s little headaches, shall we?
Rachel’s Tattoo Dilemma
Dear Gertie, I’m thinking of getting a tattoo. What do you think?
Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. Why put graffiti on the temple that is your body? Oy gevalt, let Gertie talk some sense into that pretty little head of yours before you end up looking like a defaced synagogue!
Listen, Bubbeleh, I’m not here to judge (much) but remember — that “Carpe Diem” on your tuchis might look more like “Carp Dim” when you’re 80. If you must, choose something meaningful and small. And for heaven’s sake, don’t get anyone’s name unless it’s your bubbie’s. She’s the only one guaranteed to stick around forever.
Bernie’s Pastrami Problem
Dear Gertie, My wife says I need to start eating healthier. But Gertie, I can’t give up my pastrami on rye!
Nu, Bernie, you walking heart attack waiting to happen! Put down that pastrami and pick up a pen — it’s time for Gertie to write you a prescription for not dying before your next colonoscopy!
Listen my little cholesterol time bomb, moderation is key. You don’t have to give up your beloved deli meats entirely. Just think of pastrami as a sometimes food. Like birthday cake or my ex-husband’s attempts at sincerity. Try swapping out that rye bread for a whole-grain option. Throw a little lettuce on there (it won’t kill you).
Zay nisht keyn faygele—you wuss. Channel your inner chutzpah Bernie and maybe take a brisk walk around the block after lunch. Your heart — and your wife — will thank you. If all else fails, remind her that stress is bad for your health, and nothing stresses you out more than kale.
Sadie’s Dating Comeback
Dear Gertie, I’m thinking of getting back into dating after my divorce. Any advice for a woman of a certain age in the modern dating world?
Sadie, Sadie, married lady no more! Ready to dive back into the dating pool? Careful, Bubbeleh — at our age, it’s less of a pool and more of a lukewarm bathtub full of pruney old farts. Let Gertie be your lifeguard in these treacherous waters!
Mazel tov on your newfound freedom! Dating these days is like navigating a minefield with your eyes closed and your hands tied behind your back. Though that might appeal to some of the more adventurous types out there—if you catch my drift.
First, forget those dating apps — they’re for the young and the wartless. Instead, try some classes or volunteer work. You might meet a nice younger mensch who shares your interests and knows how to hammer more than just nails—if you know what I mean.
Remember Sadie, at our age, we don’t have time for games. Unless they involve whipped cream and a feather duster. Be upfront about what you want — what you really want. And don’t settle for less. A little mystery is good, but don’t hide your true self.
If he can’t handle you at your kvetching best, he doesn’t deserve you at your glamorous worst…saggy bits and all. And honey, make sure he can keep up with you. In conversation and in other activities. After all, in these golden years stamina is a gift, and you deserve someone who can unwrap that gift all night long.
And for heaven’s sake, don’t waste time on any schmuck who can’t appreciate a woman who knows her way around a brisket and a tax return.
Genug shoyn! Enough already!
That’s all the wisdom I can squeeze out between martinis, my little lost causes. Now go forth and try not to schmuck it up too badly. And if you do, well… that’s what Gertie’s here for. Keep your chins up, your standards low, and your liquor cabinet fully stocked. That way, you’ll never be disappointed!
Until next time, you beautiful disasters!
And for heaven’s sake, don’t forget to call your mother. She worries, you know.
Think you can stump me? Leave your questions in the comments, and let’s see what you’re made of.
Keep kvelling, keep kvetching, and keep kibbitzing!
XOXO,
Gertie
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