Fuck You, I'm a Robot

Man, the B'Nai Brith girls I was in the group with looked goyish, acted goyish, had way more money than we did, and just happened to be on the Conservative side of the Reform line. They tried to straighten my hair (which I've cut recently anyway) and asked me when I was getting a rhinoplasty. I'm damn proud of my 'fro and my nose (wish it was bigger), not to mention the Philip Roth-esque lower-middle-class vibe of my upper-middle-class family, and took major offense. I think the last straw was when we went to a Denny's during the big BBYO convention and I got cheesy hashbrowns and a big side of bacon and a six-girl lecture about eating treyfe. It's a family tradition to buck tradition, dammit, and I'm not breaking that tradition just so I can fit in with a bunch of holier-than-thou nouveau riche teenyboppers.