The Bonds of Stupidity

You ever screw up so big that you can never outrun it? Not even if you lived to be 113 years-old?Like, there would be only one other person alive who remembered the embarrassing event, but that would be enough. The guy would be sitting in the lounge of the nursing home, telling all the other old timers about it. Passing it down to the younger ones so it will never be forgotten. Well, here it is: 

It was my sister's wedding (last weekend). She married this Hassidic guy, Meir, only his real name is Mark. This is no big deal because my sister, Avivit, is really named Gloria. As you might guess, she's changed. So they had this beautiful traditional wedding, and everything was great. There was the best Jewish food in the world: blintzes, and pickles, and matzot-ball soup, and noodle coogle. And my father's side of the family cooked Portuguese: arroz demarisco, chouricos, and cozido a portuguesa. They had the usual stuff too: cheesecakes, strawberries, and the ubiquitous chocolate fountain. 

So right in the middle of all the toasts, I settled in with a cup of strong coffee and a nice piece of yellow cheesecake. It was gorgeous, this cheesecake. The texture was light and creamy, and it looked like there was no crust. And I wondered how in the hell they made it without any crust? Must have been some insane genius of a pastry chef. I decided to meet him after the wedding and shake his hand. Maybe buy him a beer. 

I put a giant forkful in my mouth just as my father was giving his toast. Now, you've got to know something about my father. He never cries. He's one of those old fashioned tough guys, like Sinatra or Bogart, only Portuguese. But sure enough, there he was at the podium, talking about Gloria, I mean Avivit, with real tears in his eyes. It was beautiful the things he was saying. My little girl...may she be as happy as she's made me, etc. You could tell everyone at the wedding was getting choked up too. And that's when it hit me, what had happened. What was happening. I stood up abruptly, spilling my wine and water glass everywhere. I clutched my throat in horror. I screamed! Yes, without thinking, in a panic-reflex of stupidity and poor taste, I shouted above my weeping 67 year-old father who was giving his only daughter away to some nutjob black-hat who sold junk bonds and collected toy railroad trains. This is what I said: 

"It's FUCKING BUTTER! This isn't cheesecake. It's FUCKING BUTTER!"

There. I'm not proud of it. Actually, I'm quite embarrassed. I mean there I stood in the center of everyone's attention, with a giant lump of butter in my mouth and my sister, Gloria, I mean Avivit, trying to melt my face off with her laser eyes. And my father, well... let's just say I've got some making up to do.