A Klez-Mom Classic

My favourite Klez-Mom tale is one you may have heard, if you've been lucky enough to hear the tales of Klez-Mom, before she had a spot to shine.

A few of my girlfriends were over one afternoon, sitting on the couch in the living room, 5 meters away from Klez-Mom. Klez-Mom was working at her desk, lost in a cyber-world, gaze fixed on what should have been a client's report (but was more likely a Daily Jigsaw Puzzle).

Turning to my friends,
"Watch this."

"Mom, hey Mom. Mom. Momma. Mommy. Lyn. Mom. Mom. Mom. Woman. Lady. MOM? MOM! MOOOOOM!"
Blankness. Klez-Mom's eyes glued to the monitor, she barely flinches at the various renditions of her name. Her ears seemingly sealed shut, Klez-Mom taps away at her keyboard, one hand and one finger at a time.

Turning back to my friends,
"The only time she hears anything is when it has something to do with Jews, and boyfriends, and Jewish babies."

My friend,
"What?! You have a Jewish boyfriend?!?!"

Bam! Awakened from a trance, right on cue, Klez-Mom snaps away from her computer, turns her head and shrieks,
"HuH? Who has a Jewish boyfriend?!"

It never fails.