My son Morris is a nice Jewish boy -- he calls me once a week; he was an honor student in high school and college; he goes to shul on the High Holidays and he comes home every week for Shabbat. He's so thoughtful he brings me a special cupcake every Valentine's Day! In other words, he's a Jewish mother's dream come true. Except for one little thing -- Morris is a vampire.
He was such a cute baby. Sure, the dentist said his teeth were a little weird and he squinted a lot during the day and every Halloween he dressed up as Dracula, but who knew? When he finally told me, I thought it was just a phase.
What are you going to do? You can kvetch about it, or you can look on the bright side. Morris is my only son. Nobody's perfect.
No one knows except me, not my husband Saul, not the relatives, not the neighbors and certainly not Rabbi Jim. If the truth got out, it would ruin my son's life, especially since Morris is currently an intern at Mt. Sinai Hospital. I'm so proud! My son, the doctor! He used to eat like a bird, my Morris, but now he's near all those blood samples all day so he's put on some weight, thank God! He's become good friends with Lois Weinstein, the phlebotomist at the hospital. I tell him, "Morris, she's a smart girl with a nice personality and her father's a banker. Why are you being such a schlemiel? Ask her out! I want grandchildren."
(Actually, I'm not sure I want grandchildren. It would be a genetic crap shoot. If there's one thing the world doesn't need it's another vampire.)
It was a little hard on Morris at first, sleeping all day in that box. I mean, you think it was easy schlepping a coffin down two flights of stairs to the basement in the middle of the night? (My husband thinks it's a bench.) Doing the laundry was tsuris too because of all the bloodstains on his shirts. I should own stock in the Clorox Corporation, I'd make a fortune.
Of course, Morris works the night shift. Other than the crazy vampire stuff, he's a good boy and a hard worker.
But I'm not the only one in the neighborhood with a problem. Rhoda Rubinstein's son Marty is a werewolf. Rhoda suspected something was wrong when Marty was a little boy because he had a unibrow that took up most of his forehead but lots of kids have that. So what?
Marty is very neurotic about his grooming so all the hair makes him a little upset. Rhoda tells him, "Marty, Jewish men are hairy. A little hair on your chest is very masculine. On your hands and feet, not so much." Even with all that hair, he gets cold all the time. Bad circulation. Rhoda is always saying, "Marty, wear a sweater!"
You wouldn't believe what he spends on Nair every month. He buys crates of it at Costco. Smart boy, that Marty. Very frugal. A sensible boy. He was an A student like my Morris. Now he's a lawyer with a big Wall Street firm and brings home six figures. We're all very proud of him!
It's not so bad really. Marty just has to stay in the attic once a month when there's a full moon. Rhoda puts duct tape over his mouth so he can't howl. She doesn't want him to wake the neighbors.
Then there's Isaac, Celia Goldstein's boy. He's a zombie. The poor boy died when he was in college -- struck by lightning -- and then one day he appeared in Celia's kitchen making an egg salad sandwich on rye toast. At least he still has a good appetite!
What can I say? He has a weird look on his face - kind of glassy - but the dark glasses help. Also, he slouches all the time. Celia says to him, "Isaac, you want to have round shoulders? Stand up straight! If you don't do something about your posture, you'll never find a wife!" He's a nice boy too, but his clothes are nothing special. And he never smiles. What really makes Celia crazy is his teeth which are all jagged and yellow. What a shame, especially since Celia and her husband Larry spent a fortune on orthodontia when he was in sixth grade. And he's a little pale too but it's nothing a nice cruise to Cabo wouldn't fix.
Oy, what's a mother to do. Kids!