Written by: Bob Eckstein
Thank you, Gary, for inviting me to your daughter’s bat mitzvah.
I’m so sorry I am going to have to miss it as I’d rather rub my teeth on cement. I’d rather repeat grade school all over again than to attend your daughter’s bat mitzvah. I’d rather grout my bathroom.
I’d rather fall off a melon truck on I-84 and bounce off the embankment down to a gully and break all the bones in my body. I’d sooner clean your pool than to sit for five hours in a catering hall blaring the Black Eyed Peas’ I Gotta Feeling with your daughter’s insipid friends, but that’s me.
I love watching middle-aged people in dress suits trying to dance to music that is not their generation’s but I’d rather be strip-searched at the airport.
I’m told I am supposed to give in multiples of $18, for good luck.
So instead of giving like $100 or $200, it has to be now like $180 or $198 or $216. I did the math and the way I see it, I’m still in the hole for around $200.
I could write a check for $198 check for Brittany, if I was feeling generous, but right now, I’m not.
How about I just give Brittany $18?
Or since it’s for good luck, how about I spend $216 instead on Powerball tickets? Or placing the amount on a horse named "I’ve Had Enough."
I feel better spending $216 hiring a mime for the weekend. Or I could invest the money and buy a NFT of an image of a smoking monkey.
If I am being totally honest, I’d rather spend $216 buying a round of drinks for total strangers at a bar I’ve never been to—and I don’t even drink.
I’m thinking about spending the money earmarked for Brittany for a one-time ice-sculpting class. I’d rather give the $200 to the guy who opens the door for me at Starbucks—it will go a lot further for him and at least he, as opposed to Brittany, I know I’m going to see again.
I’d rather get a tattoo of a talking bowling pin on my face.
Let’s say I do go.
Please explain to me how I could possibly eat $216 worth of hors d'oeuvre and food? And that is just to break even. I would want a profit on my investment.
Now, I know you’re thinking: "this also includes alcohol."
But as I mentioned earlier, I don’t drink, leading me to think, @#$! you and @#$! Brittany, because no matter what you’re serving, I’m on the wrong end of this deal. I’d rather hire a graffiti artist to deface your garage door with “I Decline.”
Not having any children of my own (your family helped influence that decision), you have no way of reciprocating.
When, under what conditions, are you giving me $216? I have no intention of getting to know either Brittany nor Jeffrey any more than to recognize them as those two bratty kids living under your roof.
In other words, please note, I have even less interest in attending Jeffrey’s inevitable bar mitzvah next year.
Now I’m all ears if you can give me one good reason to say Yes.
One possible argument that I should choose either chicken, fish or Vegan.
In summary, I regrettably decline attending Brittany’s blowout be-all and end-all Paris-themed bat mitzvah at the Lux Huntington Catering Hall on September 6th, because I’d rather drop an 8-pound weight on my foot and spend a good part of the evening icing my fractured toe.
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