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They would have turned many drunk guys heads at the local shul -- and not because they weren't drunk guys God's chosen. But me? My hair drunk guys was too blond, my forefathers too German (we didn't even tell her about the kaiser), and I didn't know gefilte fish from lutefisk. I didn't want to be suckered into all the hype about in-laws and Jewish mothers. Mother-in-law. The word itself is such a stereotype, not at all nice. It's legal, clinical. Like a prenuptial agreement, it bespeaks an arrangement of necessity, not love. Besides, I thought, who needed such terminology. This wedding was about Andrew and me, not our families. For some time, I had been imagining our lives unfurled and intertwined with all the good stuff there, like some peopled version of a Pottery Barn catalog. To be fair, I'd throw in some late-night tax preparation or a colicky baby. But never did I envision a mother-in-law, certainly not one so formidable. N E X T+P A G E: Could this be the same woman? Salon | Search | Archives | Contact Us | Table Talk | Ad Info Arts & Entertainment | Books | Comics | Life | News | People Politics | Sex | Tech & Business | Audio The Free Software Project | The Movie Page Letters | Columnists | Salon Plus Copyright © 2000 Salon.com
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