July 12, 2021 Chapter 27
One night, while I was putting Shloimele to sleep, I kept getting email pings. NEW COMMENT. By Baal Devarim. NEW COMMENT by Bones. They were at each other’s throats about some obscure topic, and it felt as if two nerdy scientists had hijacked my website and taken up a long discourse in gobbledygook. Bones was a woman. I’d figured that out from her comments on other blogs. And what a woman. She showed up in threads with biting comments at the self-proclaimed enlightened men, to defend faith and cool all their hot air with her own Websters-requiring vocabulary. Half of what she said went right over my head, but never the tone—brevity, eloquence, composure, knowledge. She proved all her arguments with links from places I had no idea how she found, all in html code. Baal Devarim reciprocated with equal rigor. What was most incredible about this Bones woman was that she could quote Jewish verses on top of her multi-syllabic words. I imagined her to be that gum-popping, wig-hair tossing sexy lady I almost looked like in that blonde wig I’d left to collect dust, because it was too “not me.” The women like Bones were always five social stratas above me, six designer articles making them more precious than the rest, women on the upper echelon of society of confidence and better English. Her comments had a sophistication you could hear punctuated with commas and periods that made the little taps of high pumps. Tse, tse, tse. I read the exchange on my blog, and with a little stab of envy, could make out none of Bones’ writings. If Bones as a woman could know so much, why couldn’t I?