He turns to her and grasps her hand tightly.
“Ethyl,” he says, “I was just thinking about when we were newlyweds in Poland, just starting out with a small tailor shop, and the Nazi’s came in…and we lost the business…and you were right there beside me the whole time.”
“I remember,” Ethyl said.
“And then, after the Nazi’s left, the communists took over the country, and I had to do hard labor for a mere pittance. We almost starved. And you were there right beside me the whole time.”
“I remember,” Ethyl patted his hand gently.
“And then we left Poland and came to New York and started a dress-making business…until the factory caught fire…and we lost everything and went bankrupt. And you were right there beside me through it all.”
“I remember,” Ethyl nodded.
“I now…here I am…dying with not a penny to my name…not even enough for the funeral. And here you are, right beside me again.”
“I know, I know,” Ethyl replied.
“Ethyl,” the old man said, “before I die, there’s just one thing I want you to know…I THINK YOU’RE A JINX!”