The Engagement Ring Conundrum

The Engagement Ring Conundrum

First let me say, I was an innocent party to all this.  I was trying to be helpful.  This is what happened.

My friend in North Carolina called me up to tell me he was thinking of getting engaged. 

He wanted me to get him an engagement ring.  I asked how big and he said about 1 ½ carats.  I told him I wouldn’t spend thousands without his being here to see it.  Once I bought it, we owned it, no giving back for a refund. I suggested he come with me to the Jewelry Show and we would pick one out together.

The problem was he and his soon to be fiancé were going to visit her family over Christmas, 2 weeks away and the Jewelry Show was in February.

I told him not to worry.  I could get a perfect CZ version that no one would be able to tell wasn’t real.  It would be 14k gold, with baguettes and it would be beautiful.  I would have it to him before he left for the Christmas Holiday. His fiancé could show her family she was engaged and we would replace the ring in February with a real one.  Problem solved.

I ordered the ring.  It arrived, it was beautiful.

For fun, I decided to make up a phony Appraisal.  The Appraisal was from “Irving’s Fine Jewelry of Beverly Hills”.  It specified a 1 ½ carat D (D is the best) quality diamond with matching baguettes.  I put the appraisal amount at $10,000.

I put the ring and the appraisal into a Fed Ex envelope and over nighted it to him.

I expected to hear from him and was waiting for his call the next day.

Around 2 o’clock he called.

“Can you do me a favor” he asked.  “I have made copies of the appraisal and scattered them around the office (they worked together) and on her desk.  She hasn’t noticed them.  I need you to call her, tell her she needs to look over the papers on her desk for something like an invoice and you will know it when she finds it”.  I did business with him so this was not out of the ordinary.

I agreed and called his fiancé.  I told her what I wanted her to do and she started searching the papers on her desk.

“Here’s an invoice, here’s a message, here’s an appraisal for something, here’s another invoice….wait a minute, what’s this appraisal?  It’s for a diamond! It must be for me!”  With that the phone went dead.

I waited about a half hour and called my friend.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She loved it, couldn’t stop admiring it.  She’s back at her desk now”.

“You did tell her it wasn’t real, right?” I asked.

“No, let her be happy” he replied.

“You need to tell her, she will be showing it off to everyone she knows.  This is bad,” I said.

“No, no, don’t worry.  She’s not like that, besides, who would she tell?” he replied.

“In fact, I may never tell her” he said.

I hung up with a feeling of foreboding.

The next morning he called.

“You were right.   All of her girlfriends came over that night, they had a regular party”.

“So what did you do?” I asked.

He explained that he had to tell her the truth after the girlfriends left. 

Together they cooked up a new story:    

This was a loaner ring from the Jeweler for the holidays.  She would get her “real” ring, a much larger, ring,  in a month or two.  If she was a “good girl”, she could have both rings to keep. 

They never told anyone the first one was a CZ. 

In February, he came to the Jewelry Show and together we picked out a nice 2 ½ carat stone.  He took the stone with him and had it set in North Carolina.  She remained at the Jewelers while it was being set and wanted assurances from the Jeweler that it was real.  It was.

The aftermath was he wound up paying for a much bigger stone as penance for trying to fool her.

Her friends think he is a Prince for letting her keep both rings (they think the first one is real). 

And last but not least, her grown daughter has asked for the first ring (she also thinks it’s real). She told her mother she doesn’t need two engagement rings and it would be a nice present for her (the daughter) to wear as a pendant.

Her mother told her she would leave it to her in her will.

I hope Harry Winston is laughing.

Fun With Cancer

Fun With Cancer

Right before my daughter’s wedding in 1996, I noticed a lump.  I went to our GP who sent me to a surgeon to do a biopsy.

I told him it would have to wait until after the wedding as there was no way I was not going to dance at my daughter’s wedding.  I thought I had a hernia, he suspected something else.  We postponed.

After the wedding, I scheduled the biopsy as outpatient surgery. 

I was still groggy, coming out of the anesthesia when the surgeon came in and said “It’s Cancer, make an appointment at my office,” and promptly left.

His gracious bedside manner was very comforting.  However it left me with some questions.

What kind of cancer was it?  What was the treatment?  Who should I go see for treatment?

My wife and I went to the local library (we didn’t have a computer much less internet at home) to do some research.

Based on the symptoms, or lack of symptoms other than the lump, I self diagnosed myself (I was right), looked up the treatment recommended, and waited for Monday to make the appointment.

I called the surgeon’s office, and made an appointment.  While on the phone, I asked the person who answered the phone, who she would recommend as an Oncologist.  She gave me a name and I called and made an appointment.  I figured the sooner we got started the better.

When I showed up at the Surgeon’s he confirmed my diagnosis.  He got mad when I told him I already had an appointment with an Oncologist (maybe he gets a kickback) and wanted me to rat out the person in his office who had given me the name.  Needless to say, I didn’t, and never went back to him.

I went to the Oncologist with my wife, who oddly felt she had a stake in this.

He went over a treatment regimen and wanted to do additional tests.  I said, lets get started immediately, like today.  The tests wouldn’t change the course of treatment.  He agreed, but said we had to do one test first.

This test consisted of me lying on my stomach, while he tried to poke a hole in my hip bone so he could draw out some marrow to see if the cancer had spread.

I asked if it was painful, I was told some people can take it, some scream.   Great!

He sent my wife to the drug store to fill a prescription for anti-nausea medication and also so she wouldn’t hear me scream.

The test began.

He was having trouble getting the needle through the bone, so he ended up with his knees on my back, trying to pound the needle through the bone (no osteoporosis for me).  It would have been comical except it hurt.

After the test (I didn’t scream), I had my first treatment, which consisted of me sitting on a recliner, hooked up to an IV while they put 4 different chemicals into me.  This was called CHOP or the Red Devil, for the color of one of the components.

A couple of weeks after the first treatment my hair started falling out. Not willing to wait for wispy hair, I shaved my head.

One of the benefits of this particular side effect, was saving on shampoo and not having to shave, since my beard stopped growing.  I began to see possibilities here.

I went to Annie’s Costume Shop and bought an earring (clip on) and eye patch.  I looked somewhere between a pirate and Mr. Clean.  My wife said “NO PARROT”.  I wore the eye patch and earring whenever I remembered to put them on or wanted to make a favorable impression.  I even took my nephew to Annie’s and got him one of those scalp coverings that made him look bald, so we could pal around and frighten people.

I wore them to my next treatment.

Oncologists are not known for having a humorous outlook.

I entered the office hunched over like Quasimodo, limping, with my bald head, and earring.  “It’s the side effects” I told the nurse.  She burst out laughing.

She called in the other nurse, who also laughed.  They decided I had to show the doctor.  They put me in an examination room and sent in the doctor telling him there was something wrong.

I repeated my performance.

“What” he said startled, “I’ve never seen side effects like that.  What happened to your eye, what is that hunchback?”  As I said, not a fun type of guy.

I had several treatments over 4 months, but was disappointed I never got the wine and cheese I asked for during the treatments.  If I was going to sit there for a couple of hours I should be made comfortable I said to them.  They agreed but never provided the wine and cheese, just old magazines.

He eventually discharged me with the caveat that this type of cancer can reoccur.

Sure enough, about 4 years later I felt another lump on my neck. 

The GP send me to another surgeon who specialized in Ear, Nose and Throat.

He did the biopsy and removed the lymph node and a salivary gland by “cutting my throat”.

 I usually tell people my wife arranged for my throat to be slit.  They usually respond by saying they can understand why.  I have no idea what they are talking about.

The biopsy came back positive.

Sure enough the Cancer was back. 

I had to go to a new Oncologist because we had changed health plans.  He had a better sense of humor. 

He started me off with a new treatment that didn’t have the harsh side effects of the other one.

But first I went back to the surgeon so he could evaluate his handiwork.

Why should I let him off easy?

Back to Annie’s for something to give me the appearance of a Frankenstein like scar around the neck.  The scar from him is almost invisible.

I sat in his waiting room with the “scar”.  Patients would look at me and gasp.  They began to be uneasy about what to expect.

I went into the examination room.

The nurse started smirking. The Doctor entered.

“How are you doing today?” he said.  He noticed the scar.  “What is this?”

He rushed over to examine me.  “I didn’t do this, what is this?” he exclaimed.

He quickly realized it was my little joke.

“You didn’t wear this in the waiting room, did you?” he asked hopefully.

“Fraid so”, I responded.  The nurse was giggling by now.

“I don’t think you have to come back” he said. 

He did smile, but asked if I could leave the back way.

The treatments were successful, the Cancer went away.

About 4 ½ years later it came back. 

This time it caused my leg to swell and took 2 biopsies to diagnose what type of cancer cells I had.

The Oncologist (the one from 4 years previous), put me on two different regimens. 

My wife agreed to let me have a stuffed parrot, I had saved my earring and eye patch. 

This time I really had side effects.   My hair started to fall out, and then started to grow back.  I told the doctor’s partner maybe he should check on the validity of the cancer drugs he was getting from his supplier since my hair was growing back and it shouldn’t have.  To my credit there was a current news  story about counterfeit cancer drugs.

He thought I was accusing him personally.  We didn’t seem to get along.

The nurses thought it was funny.  They liked my sense of humor and cooperated with me on some little jokes. 

For instance my wife wanted me to paint the living room.  I got one of the nurses to write on the prescription pad “Paint fumes are very harmful for cancer patients”. 

Didn’t help, I still had to paint.  The nurses sympathized with me (I think) when they asked me what happened the next time I had a treatment.

The side effects got worse, at one point my red blood count really dropped and I struggled to get out of bed in the morning.  I went in for a treatment.  The treatment nurse directed me to see the doctor.

I was waiting in the exam room when the doctor came in.  I was tired, didn’t have any strength or energy and was very pale.  He actually seemed concerned.

My wife who had driven me to the office decided to come in to the exam room.  She had never met this doctor as I had always gone myself.

I couldn’t help myself.

As she entered the room, I looked up at her and turned to the doctor and said “Do you know this woman?”

The doctor with a shocked look on his face that some stranger would intrude said “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t listen to him” my wife said, “I’m his wife, and it’s only his weird sense of humor”.

I figured if I could fool around, how bad could it be?

Fun at Work or Why No Visitors Were Allowed in My Class

Why No Visitors Were Allowed in My Class

For 12 years I taught in the High School in Port Washington, NY. 

During that time I taught classes in World History, American History, Economics, Sociology, Psychology, Art History, Experimental Biology, Interpretation of Literature, a tutoring course where students went to the elementary schools to help grade school students, Anthropology, and Child Development.

I taught a lot of different classes because I would get bored easily.  I routinely had 5 different courses per semester, and would occasionally team up with other teachers to team teach a class.

While there, I had a good time. 

There were other teachers there with my sense of humor and we would play jokes on one another, plan and execute jokes together and have fun while teaching.

We signed up one of the teachers for the priesthood (they were running ads for “a few good men”). He eventually had to tell them he was married.  They told him to stay in touch if his status changed.

Donated money to the Democratic party for someone who was a staunch Republican (actually the same one we signed up for the priesthood), performed brain surgery on a rat with a dentist drill, ether and epoxy, pretended the boa constrictor had gotten out of its cage, sending in a male teachers name for the position of Girls Room Attendant, and too many things to really mention.

One of my favorite incidents, however, was the Kazoo Band.

I was teaching a course early in the morning on the side of the school facing the football field. 

Every morning, the Marching Band would practice.  They were very loud, often drowning out what I was saying. 

The worst part was they never finished the song.

Over and over again they played the same song and stopped at the exact same place.  It was maddening.  I had to do something.

I told the students in my class to bring in Kazoo’s the next day and we would march around the Marching Band and give them a dose of their own medicine.  We would go out there when they started playing.

The next day came. 

The Marching Band started playing and marching.

I and my students left the classroom for the football field. 

 

So did every other student on that side of the building.

My class had recruited everyone who had the misfortune to be in a class facing the football field, when the Marching Band practiced.

The students got up to leave at the appointed time, much to the surprise of their teachers.   

When their teachers asked what they were doing, they replied: “Mr. Dreyfuss wants us as part of his Kazoo Band to march around the Marching Band.”

The school emptied out.

Many of the students carried placards saying things like “Finish the Song”, “Change the Song”, and some placards I won’t mention.

We marched around the band, playing our Kazoo’s.  I thought we sounded as good as the Marching Band.

The Marching Band was confused.  They stopped playing.

We returned to the building.

The Principal, Assistant Principals, and various faculty members,  were waiting.

Fortunately, his office faced the football field as well.  He thought it was very funny, and we all returned to class.

The math teachers were unhappy with me, they are very rigid when it comes to keeping their teaching schedule, but the other teachers enjoyed it.  The Band Director didn’t talk to me for a year. The Marching Band played on.

One year the school was hosting a Student Exchange Program. 

Students from other parts of the country would come to our school for a few days and our students would then go to their school.

This particular year, they students came from Kansas.

I was teaching Introduction to Psychology and the lesson that day was about Freud.  A few of the Exchange Students attended the class.  We were talking about some of the Freudian Concepts all of which have sexual connotations.  They had never been exposed (no pun intended) to this kind of thing.

The Exchange Students went to their end of day meeting to report on what they had observed. 

 

“Do you know what they are discussing in that class?” they said.  “It was embarrassing”;  “I never heard anything like it in my life”

The next day my class was filled to overflowing. 

 

The lesson was on hypnosis, with a demonstration of hypnotizing the whole class included.

The next day, the chairman of my department passed a rule that said no outside visitors would be allowed in my classroom after this day.  He said I gave visitors a skewed impression of what is taught in the school.

I think he was just jealous because no one came to his class, it was boring.

The Gift Exchange

The Gift Exchange

My anniversary was approaching as was Chanukah and later Valentines Day.

In October, I went to a jewelry show for jewelers in Miami. Some people think I am a Jeweler and I have a Jewelers Board of Trade number which gets me into shows for the trade.

While there, I got presents for my daughter, mother (I would be killed if I didn’t get her something) and my niece, and found some very pretty pieces for my wife.  One was for our anniversary in November, one for Chanukah and I had one for Valentine’s Day as well.

The anniversary came.  I presented her with a beautiful ring.  It was exquisite and is possibly my favorite gift to her.  She loved it.

I got nothing (I say pouting and looking forlorn).

Chanukah came and I presented her with a fabulous necklace.  She loved it.

I got nothing (more pouting and forlorn look).

Valentine’s Day was approaching.  My daughter and son felt it was time to intervene.

“We can’t take any more of his pouting and forlorn looks,” they said to my wife.  “Get him something. You know he got you something and he will milk this to no end”.

My wife considered their advice and came up with a wonderful gift.

I gave her another piece of Jewelry and she gave me what she felt was appropriate.  A Whitman Sampler.

The Whitman Sampler became a staple of my wife’s gifts to me over the next couple of years and a standing joke in the family. I didn’t even like it.

I would get her expensive jewelry or perfume; she would get me the Whitman Sampler.

An important birthday was approaching.

She decided to break the pattern and regain the moral high ground in the gift giving.

She got me a very nice camcorder.  I really liked it.  It was a wonderful gift.

She thought it was so nice, she kept giving it to me at least once a year. 

When it came time for exchanging gifts she would trot it out and re-present it to me.  This continued for another few years.

Another family joke was created.

Very recently, the camcorder had lost its luster.  She needed a new gift to give to me.

After consulting with my daughter, son, son-in-law and daughter-in-law, she bought me a Nook for my birthday.  The electronic reader from Barnes and Noble.

It was a wonderful gift, I love to read.  The kids gave me gift cards to use on the site.

I am patiently waiting for my next birthday to see if I get it again.  I’m betting I do.

The Vampire Who Came to the Wedding

The Vampire Who Came to the Wedding

My cousin Stacey was getting married.  She is the daughter of my cousin Carole, who was formally known as Rocky Toledo.  A funny story in and of itself but saved for another day.

Stacey had asked me to be in the wedding party.  I readily agreed.

Stacey chose Black and White as her wedding colors, something that was very unusual at the time.  I started thinking about that.

If I was going to wear this formal black attire at a Black and White wedding, I thought I could spice things up a little by adding fangs and a cape.  My wife although strongly disapproving of my idea, did not interfere.

We arrived in NY and stayed in Manhattan.  The wedding was on Long Island. 

The day of the wedding we took a cab to my cousin Carole’s one bedroom apartment where my mother, father, aunt, my aunt’s husband and Stacey (for one night, she lived in Connecticut) were all staying along with my Stacey’s father, Larry.

My wife and I arrived in the early afternoon. I, Stacey, Carole and Larry would take the Limo early to the catering hall for pictures and a rehearsal.  My wife, parents, aunt and uncle would follow later by car.

Everything was a little tense in the apartment what with Carole and Stacey trying to get dressed with only one bathroom and my mother and aunt hovering around offering unsolicited advice.  They loved giving unsolicited advice, most of it totally without merit.

The Limo came and the four of us got in. 

I had put on my cape and inserted my fangs. I thought it was funny, so did Stacey.  Carole not so much. But she chose (a most usual choice for her) not to make a scene about it.

We arrived at the Catering Hall.

The groom and his parents and brothers were all there.  The mother of the groom came over to the Limo to say hello.  She had never met me before, nor had any other member of the groom’s family.

She came up to the window, we rolled it down and she saw me fangs, cape and all.  Her eyes widened, she turned pale.  She mumbled something like “You look lovely”, to Stacey and quickly retreated to her own Limo as far from me as possible.  She avoided me all night. In fact never spoke with me again.

We all entered the catering hall.  The groom, his brothers and Stacey’s brother, also in the wedding party, seemed to find my choice of accessories amusing.

We hung around while pictures were taken prior to the rehearsal.

My cousin Carole had chosen a spectacular dress.  It was all black, sequined, low cut in both the front and back, and looked somewhat like a flamingo dancer’s dress.

She was concerned the straps of the dress were slipping off her shoulders. 

I saw an opportunity to have a little fun at her expense.

I was paired with her son as ushers walking down the aisle.  We took our positions opposite each other about half way down. 

I innocently suggested to him that we whisper “Carole, your dress is falling down” as she passed us going down the aisle.

It had its desired effect.  She stopped to look around and check her dress, everyone laughed and we got on with the rehearsal.

She grabbed me outside the chapel.

“Idiot, moron, what are you doing?  I am nervous enough as it is” she exclaimed.  I agreed not to do it doing the actual ceremony. Relieved she went back to mingling with the arrived guests.

My cousin Emil, her son, didn’t get the memo.

When Carole passed our position I heard him say, “Ma, your dress is falling down”.

There is some debate as to what happened next.

I seem to remember her backhanding him as she continued down the aisle.  It certainly makes for a better story that way so I’m sticking with it.

At any rate she was not amused (I seem to get that a lot) and blamed me.  It was funny.

The wedding continued.

Stacey looked beautiful and stylish (she worked in a bridal salon at the time) and the ceremony went off unimpeded.

Everyone was happy. 

I even got to take some pictures with the cape and fangs with my cousin Carole. She came to realize the humor of the situation. We all had a good time, so good, the brothers kept asking me “Are you sure you’re married?”

Even after assuring them I was and pointing out my very pretty wife, they still had doubts. 

I wasn’t quite sure why they were asking. 

My wife strongly suggested it had to do with my perceived maturity level, but I took it as a compliment.

Surprising My Daughter

Surprising My Daughter

My daughter and her new husband had moved to Dallas.  We had promised to visit and my wife and I had picked a long weekend to do so.

We decided to surprise her.  We told my daughter we were coming two weeks later than we were.

We consulted with my son-in-law about the weekend in question, and he said he would pick us up and not tell our daughter. He did tell her co-workers who joined in the conspiracy.

We and my mother booked airline tickets and awaited the coming visit.

The appointed Friday we boarded our flight.

The day before, my son-in-law came home from work and suggested to my daughter that they clean up the apartment. He never gets involved in that.  Mistake number one.

My daughter was developing a slight cold and he suggested she might want to take Friday off so she could take care of it.  Again, he usually didn’t suggest she take the day off from work.  Mistake number two.

My daughter did take the day off and was sitting around her apartment when she decided to call us at work.

We have a family business and my father-in-law had come to the office to spend the day with his other daughter and her family.  He answered the phone.

Now the thing to know about my father-in-law is he can’t lie.  My daughter asked how he was and asked to speak with her mother.

“She’s not here.  Your parents have gone away and no-one knows where they’ve gone” he said, and hung up the phone.  Mistake number three.

Nancy Drew started putting the clues together.  She called her husband at work.

“Are my parents coming this weekend?” she demanded to know.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” he said trying to bluff his way out of it.

My daughter pressed on “If they’re coming and you don’t tell me I will make your life miserable and not forgive you (at least that’s what I thought she said to make him cave in)”.

He confessed and told her he was picking us up at the Dallas Airport in 20 minutes.

“Not without me” she said.  She made him drive 20 minutes in the opposite direction to get her making him 40 minutes late to get us.

Meanwhile we landed.  No Keith.  Where was he, how could I get a hold of him? We waited and fretted.

Suddenly I heard my name being said over the loudspeakers.  I went to a courtesy desk and lifted the phone.  I was informed my son-in-law was delayed but would be there shortly, we were to wait outside of the gate where we had arrived.

In a short while, we saw Keith and while we were focused on him, Ronni our daughter snuck up and surprised us.

We had a great time with them.  We visited Fort Worth, where I made my mother climb up on a Brahma Bull (we still have the pictures.) went to a lakeside bar and restaurant and spent a terrific 4 days.

The only drawback was our sleeping arrangements.  The 3 of us stayed at a nearby Holiday Inn (my daughter’s apartment was too small for all of us).  We booked one room.  It had a King size bed and a pull out couch. 

Upon seeing the sleeping accommodations, my mother informed me that I was to sleep on the couch and she would sleep with my wife.  There was no arguing about it.  “Have some respect for your elders” she informed me.  Besides she liked my wife more than me.

A couple of years later, my daughter and son-in-law moved back to South Florida.  They lived here for 12 years and have now moved to South Carolina.

Just in case you’re wondering, we didn’t cause the move.

Once again, we decided to surprise her.  (My wife is a willing participant even though she often denies the willing part)

We checked with Keith and picked out a weekend.

We booked the flights.

I decided to do some preliminary work.

I sent books to my grandchildren with a note saying the books were from a “secret admirer” and more surprises were to follow.  I did tell my daughter about the books so she wouldn’t think there was a stalker around and to allay any suspicion about the “surprises to follow”.

We arrived at the airport.  Keith picked us up and snuck us into the house about 10 minutes before Ronni returned with the kids from school.

We hid in the kitchen.  Keith was assigned to take pictures.

Ronni drove into the garage, and she and the kids came up the stairs to the 2^nd level where the living room and kitchen are.

First came Jordan.  He emerged from the stairwell.  We stood up, he screamed. We motioned for him to be quiet.  He stood there.  Next came Hayley, she saw us and her mouth popped open but no sound emerged, She stood there.

Then came Ronni.  The surprise was complete.  They all ran over and we had a good laugh about it.

I told them they could have figured it out from the note in the books about “more surprises to follow”.  We were the surprise.

My daughter claims the kids now come up the stairs when returning from school, always suspicious we might be lurking there. 

I like to think that’s true.