It’s all my fault. I admit it; it was totally me. I dropped the ball already, and we’re not even done eating matzah yet.
Last night after she picked me up from work, Suzie asked me, “Are you ready to count the Omer yet?”
And I said no, because I wasn’t ready yet. I had had a very long work day, just barely finished by 9pm, and Suzie and I were about to go to our favorite tapas place for an anniversary date. I wanted to say the blessing after dinner.
(Which anniversary? We’re not quite sure. It’s seven months since we got legally married and negative one month until our Jewish ceremony. Whatever; it was the tenth of the month, and Suzie and I celebrate everything.)
So we went on our tapas date, which is hilarious during Passover, because it’s not actually a reasonable activity for a date, because all it amounts to in the end is drinking wine. Suzie is very observant during Passover. Despite the fact that she makes wonderful pesadecha food, during this particular holiday I am always hungry.
Could Suzie have the lamb? No, it comes on a bed of kitniyot. Could I have the potatoes? Depends; what kind of oil were they fried in? Seriously, we barely ate anything. We ordered a bottle of wine. I had a glass and a half.
And by the end of the first glass, I was falling out of my chair drunk. You know how they say that bread soaks up alcohol? Completely true. I can normally hold my liquor a little better than I did last night. I was embarrassing. Suzie was very kind.
But of course I did not remind Suzie to count the Omer after dinner, because at that point in the evening I was in no state to count the fingers on my own hands, much less say a blessing for some obscure mystical holiday which I am just beginning to celebrate.
So we did not say the blessing last night.
I’m still going to count the Omer by blogging and knowing which day we’re on and everything (last night was night 4), but you’re supposed to say the blessing every single night, and if you miss one, it doesn’t count anymore. I don’t know why; maybe it’s like messing up a surprise party or something. You just can’t go back and do it over.
And my darling Suzie is sleeping peacefully over there, turning and mumbling “what are you doing, honey?” every once in a while, not knowing that I screwed up the Omer already. I feel so bad to disappoint her by reminding her when she wakes up. Oh well. Maybe next year.
Lag B Blog, day 4.
P.S. Here’s a thought: if it’s like a surprise party, who is the party for? Moshiach? Did I just mess up Moshiach’s birthday?
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