< 1 min read
Moishe sits down at Yitz’s deli just as another customer was leaving. "Perfect timing.” Says a fellow sitting in the seat next to him. “You're just like Shloimie."
"Who?"
"Shloimie Aronson. There's a guy who did everything right. Like sitting down just when those other people left. That would have happened to Shloimie."
"Everybody has mazal on one day or another" says Moishe.
"Not Shloimie. He was a terrific athlete. He could have gone on the pro tour in tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star."
"He was something, huh?"
"He had a memory like a trap. Could remember everybody's birthday. He knew all about wine, which fork to eat with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and I black out the whole neighborhood."
"No wonder you remember him."
"Well, I never actually met Shloimie."
"Then how do you know so much about him?" asks Moishe.
"Because I married his widow."