Dude, You Stole My Dessert!

I don’t have a photographic memory; I guess that mine is more of a photoshopped memory. It’s pretty good, but there are limitations and allowances, however unintentional.



Like tens of millions of you (and I wish all of you were reading this, and enjoying my books), I was a big fan of Seinfeld, the show that purported to be about nothing, and it kind of was: both nothing, and everything.


So, if I’m not engaging in too much photo or memory-shopping now, recent personal events brought to mind the episode where George Costanza’s crazy, soon-to-be in-laws (who had no idea that licking cheap-o wedding invitations would prove fatal to their daughter, Susan) invite George and his totally dysfunctional parents to dinner.



Frank and Estelle Costanza bring a loaf of marble rye to the dinner (a Schnitzer’s marble rye, no less) but Susan’s folks forget to put it on the table. Frank, about as easily miffed and pissed as any character in the history of American television, is now miffed and pissed for three reasons:


1) The Rosses didn’t put the Schnitzer’s on the dinner table
2) They didn’t even put out any dessert after the Cornish game hen meal. To quote Frank from memory, ” And who doesn't serve cake after a meal? What kind of people are they? Would it kill them to put out a pound cake? Something!”
3) He is, after all, Frank Costanza.


The long and the short of it is that Frank took the Schnitzer’s marble rye home, and George then had to try to cover his tracks.
Of course, this episode is one of my very favorites, as it also includes the following subplots, all related to George trying to sneak a fresh Schnitzer’s into the Rosses' house:


  • Jerry steals a marble rye from an old, recalcitrant lady
  • Kramer takes the Rosses for a hansom carriage ride while George smuggles in the Schnitzer’s—a plan that works perfectly until Rusty the horse starts to break wind from all the Beef-a-Reeno Kramer feeds it.
  • Jerry attempts to throw the Schnitzer’s up to the third floor, but he can’t get enough oxygen (it's too close to where the horse had been letting them fly)  to give his throw enough juice. Brilliant stuff…


…so, why was I reminded of this favorite episode yesterday?


My wife, Ruby, and I invited neighbors over for a barbecue; they have a three year-old daughter who is just two months older than our Benny. He calls her Princess, and Princess may be his first-ever crush. Nice girl, nice parents; no complaints – keep reading.



All of us had a good time, despite the weather being good for nothing but flash floods. Relegated to the indoors, Ruby still managed to make a terrific feast, and the two kids played pretty well together. No broken bones, serious arguments or shattered eardrums were recorded, and I’m not photoshopping here.

The food was good and plentiful and our friends brought over a little box of chocolate chip cookies and another of brownies.



As a good host, I refused to insult them. We served the desserts, and I did my part, making at least a small dent in both boxes. Some good conversation, kiddie videos and games later, it was time for Princess and her folks to leave and I could not help but notice that her dad (no king, he) was carrying the uneaten brownies and cookies with him.



Both boxes were more than half-filled with goodies. My Schnitzer’s buttons were pushed, and Ruby (I’m not sure she saw that episode) and I shared a good laugh or two over it after they left. I was taken aback and surprised, but I don’t fault him for it.


I figure that he kind of knew that I was a humor writer, that I liked Seinfeld and that episode in particular (although we’ve never talked about it), and that his gesture would be appreciated as ironic.

So, it did work on that level for me. As did another bit of comical irony authored by Benny.


As our friends were leaving with desserts in hand, Benny hugged Natalie, said “bye, bye” to all, and then, channeling his best Rusty the Horse after cans of Beef-a-Reeno, let loose and cut the cheese.

Was that blast of noxious air unintentional, an homage to his sometimes flatulent father or his own retort to the disappearing desserts?


My photoshopped mind does not know the answer but for all concerned, I say this: Better Benny than me.

All was right once again in my little corner of the world. But yeah, I could still use a dozen or so chocolate chip cookies right about now. I wonder if the Costanzas are home.



As always, thank you for reading. Please check out my other books, blogs and speaking information.



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