I'm completely purging my belongings to figure out how much stuff can be donated into the dumpster, because I know that over 50% of it is trash. One of these boxes of joy is simply labeled 'Fern,' and I had to clarify by phone whether or not I could let it go.
"Chris? I...I think it's time. I can't believe I'm saying this."
"No, Jen, I completely understand. Look, it's for the best. I mean, *I* got rid of mine when it was time."
"You did?"
"Oh, yeah. It was hard, but, you know. Just...promise me you'll keep the wig.
...
And the glasses."
What is Fern?
Fern is my aunt. I created her, out of the desperate need to be related to an exaggerated Brooklyn Yenta. Her name (in full) is Fern Lipschitz-Finklestein-Rosenthal, and Herschel (pictured above) is her 2nd husband. Morty Finklestein was her first.
One of my favorite roles ever, Fern and Herschel came into being during my junior year of high school. As you might suspect, I never took a prom seriously, and Auntie Fern effectively crashed the prom. I cannot express the joy I took in buying her '80s gemmed-and-bedazzled grandma sweatshirts and windjackets. Fern was everything I aspired to be--old, loud, and retired in Boca.
Fern continued to make surprise appearances at friends' BBQs, graduation parties, and was even a distinguished guest at my mother's business luncheons (not kidding). She and Herschel were even joined by their deadbeat daughter Joanie, who was a hairdresser from Long Island. She showed up at my birthday parties.
I am still clutterbusting. I will be sending Fern's bedazzled, glittering windpants off into the great unknown. She's tired. She needs shuffleboard and Mah-Jongg and 'her stories' out in Boca. She needs to pester Joanie into "having some grandbabies, for Chrissakes." I will give up the delightful ruse of Auntie Fern, who simply has no room in this artist's humble pad.
But I am keeping my wig. And my damn glasses.
