i have so much to tell you. this weekend, my bachelorette weekend, was great. it involved many, many, many hours of sleeping. and a manicure (that i didn’t have to be forced to get) and going to see The Dark Knight ALL BY MYSELF (ah..little Ali has grown up…) and much brownie batter (the brownies never did get baked) and a haircut (SIX inches!)
and finding the day dress i’ve been looking for! and finally caving and buying this book because i was feeling left out on twitter…haha.
and the entire family made it home safely from their week at my mom’s house at about 12:30 last night…
…so, there’s lots to tell, but it has to be put on hold. because i promised Dad Gone Mad i would tell you a story (and what Danny says, i do. and not just because i’m jealous of his new book deal). a little story about my first time.
my mom came with me. i was so young, no naive. at a week-shy-of-twenty this was not only new for me, it was frightening as well. i mean, not many people had seen the fullAli (shut up, it’s not THAT many…). and certainly not a WOMAN. (unless you count the showers at camp Moshava, but i most certainly don’t!)
she led me into room #2, told me to get naked. told me to take a bath if i needed to. (what? why would i NEED to take a bath?) and then come out on the other side. where the mikvah was.
IN THE BUCK.
IN FRONT OF HER.
THIS STRANGE LADY THEY CALL ‘THE MIKVAH LADY’
(oh, and ps. my mom was there too. awkward. tangent: do you want to know what’s awkward? looking at the word awkward. its spelled so, well, awkwardly. what’s up with that? end tangent.)
some of you will know what a mikvah is. most of you, i’m gathering will not. some of you know what it is because when Charlotte converts on Sex and the City, she dips in a mikvah.
to the naked (heh. naked) eye, it looks like a mini-pool, yes, but to Orthodox Jews (and some non Orthodox too, we don’t generalize here at Cheaper Than Therapy) it serves as a ritual purification. before a wedding (in my case), after a woman’s period each month, after having a baby. i’ve had friends talk about how wonderful an experience they think it is, and i’ve had friends talk about how its just a nuisance. (either way, i don’t judge. at all. please don’t judge me)
for me, the one and only time i was ever at a mikvah, it was a nightmare.
(we will not get into some of my fundamental issues with the idea that a woman’s body is UNCLEAN and, therefore, in need of a purification.
today it’s just about the story.)
she checked my hands. my hair. my face. my toes. she actually got down on her KNEES to do this part. she told me i had to remove the remnants of the toe polish i had on. once this task was completed, she told me to get in.
so, i went down.
and she was supposed to say ‘kosher’ which would have meant that somehow this ritual dunking in a communal bath (at the time i was trying SO hard not to think about ALL the other naked women who had been in there that day) was complete and i was free to hide my nakedness from this stranger and go about with all the exciting things most females do before weddings.
instead she said
“you hair didn’t go fully under. try again”
and then she said it again.
and then she said it again.
and then she said it again.
and then she grunted a little, getting a little annoyed me with, i think. and then, in a shocking turn of events, she actually GOT INTO THE MIKVAH WITH ME.
(i don’t know if this was allowed. something tells me that it’s completely NOT. i think she just wanted to be done with me)
and that was when i was almost drowned by the mikvah lady.
three times.
and then, in another shocking turn of events, she HUGGED me. and wished me luck on my wedding night. this stranger. who now knew i had c-cups. who now knew the state of affairs of my nether regions. who almost killed me. and made me scared of the mikvah (and maybe of swimming a little bit too) forever. hugged. me. and sent me on my merry way to go forth and have sex and make babies and prosper.
and i knew that i would never be back. and she probably did too.
and so i guess this is a story not just of my first time. it’s a story of my last time, as well.
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