“The stuff I have to put up with, you wouldn’t believe.” Abe always says that when anyone asks him how things are going. But he has to admit that things aren’t all that bad. Business is better than ever. The store is in the middle of a community of Orthodox Jews and there is only one other kosher butcher shop nearby. And it’s run by an old friend. They don’t really compete. As they see it, their job is to work together, to make sure that everyone gets what they need. And his clientele is growing, not just because there seems to be more and more observant Jews in his area but because non-observant Jews and even people from other faiths like the quality that Abe delivers. Of course, there are a lot of rules to follow. And the rabbis that Abe hires to certify his merchandise have – each in his own way –  been more than a little annoying. There are also a few customers Abe could do without. As Abe says, “The stuff I have to put up with, you wouldn’t believe.” And that includes his personal life. He just wishes it could be a bit pleasanter. His wife left him five years ago. One day, he found a note: “I don’t like you, never have. And you smell funny.” She just moved out and disappeared. No forwarding address. Apparently, she planned the whole thing well in advance. Abe was in a daze for months. “Smell funny? What the hell. She knew I was a butcher when she married me.” It wasn’t as though he didn’t have opportunities with other women if he wanted. But, after the “smell funny” comment, he wasn’t taking any chances. And anyway, his wife left without divorcing him so it’s not as if he could marry again so easily. And about anything else, Abe has strong views. “Fooling around. Not for me.” Dealing with the kids is no picnic either. Neither son had wanted to go into business with him. Or to be part of the community they grew up in. One, Alvin, got interested in science when he was in junior high school. Abe hoped he would go into dentistry. But not Alvin. A physicist! He went away to college, graduated cum laude, got advanced degrees, and then took a job in a very fancy laboratory. He met and married a woman – not Jewish – while on a fellowship in Ireland. A nice lady, Abe says, but says he can’t understand anything she says. The other boy is in television, does the news for a network in New York. He married another TV person, a gal from Iowa of all places. Also not Jewish. Her name is Paige. Very tall. Very skinny. Abe always asks, “What kind of name is Paige?” It’s his idea of a joke. Abe doesn’t make a fuss about his grandkids not being brought up Jewish. What’s the point? And he doesn’t make too much of a fuss that both of his boys and their wives seem more than a little embarrassed by him. When the topic comes up, all he’ll say is, “Too bad! I am who I am.” A long time ago, he decided there’s no point worrying about what you can’t do anything about.  At the end of a long day in the store, Abe usually gets home, flops down in a chair, takes off his shoes, and has a Scotch and a slice or two of salami. Then, he’ll watch his son do the news on television while eating dinner. And, before bed, he always takes a long shower. So he won’t smell funny.