Pussover

If ever anyone had any doubt as to whether I’m a girl who knows how to have a good time during a Jewish holiday, today I put any and all doubts to rest. I am no spoilsport. I am no killjoy. No soy un aguafiestas. Even though I don’t celebrate Passover, I still managed to have matzo’ fun.
How did I do it? What did I do that made today different from any other day? I went to the gynecologist! I figured if Moses could part the Red Sea, this was the least I could do in honor of Judaism. I’m big on symbolism.
This was my first visit to this doctor. I was nervous, of course, and eager to make a good impression. I figured, hey, she’s Jewish, so she probably has a decent sense of humor. Not like my experience at Planned Parenthood in Philadelphia many years ago, where the student doctor, a skittish girl named Kina, didn’t get it when I said, upon hearing her name, “Oh! As in ‘rhymes with …’?”
This afternoon, I decided to make the doctor feel more at ease between my knees by introducing a little Jewish humor.
As I slid down to the edge of the examining table, I said, “Here’s lookin’ at Jew, Yid!” in my best Humphrey Bogart voice.
“Please stop laughing,” she said. “I can’t get a proper smear if you don’t hold still.”
“Did somebody say shmear?” I said.
“Please just relax,” she said.
“What’re you doing down there?” I said. “Are you playing ‘hide-the-matzoh’?”
“OK, we’re all done,” she said, turning off the bright white light and snapping off her gloves. “Everything seems to be in order.” And then she left the room before I could ask if she noticed a reduction in “yeast infections” during Passover, given the adherents’s avoidance of leavened bread.
I guess I should have expected this, though. I should have anticipated that my jokes would have passed right over her head. It’s only appropriate!