Over the Rainbow

I have sixty rainbow colored personalized yarmulkes on my kitchen counter, and I have no idea what to do with them. In addition to those kippah, I also have a box full of rubber duckies shaped like unicorns, with rainbow manes. And about 45 brightly colored programs. These are all the extra items left over from my daughter’s bat mitzvah last weekend. Her theme was “rainbows and unicorns,” which in addition to being a teenage girl’s dream, is also the gayest party theme ever.

The theme started out as one of my typically weird dreams. About a year ago, we started thinking about what kind of party E, my now 13 year old daughter, wanted for her bat mitzvah. I had a dream that her bat mitzvah was a rainbow carnival. We had rainbow colored things everywhere, and carnival games and snow cones and corn dogs and a cotton candy machine. We even had a tent with a freak show, the freaks all dressed in rainbow colored costumes. I told E all about my bizarre dream. She said, “I don’t know about the carnival, but I kind of like the rainbows.” And that’s how she picked her theme.

Parties don’t require themes, exactly, but it sure makes it easy to go over the top if you have one, which I did. I ordered monochromatic floral arrangements and table cloths. I ordered a balloon arrangement shaped like a big rainbow arch, with white cloud balloon clusters at the base; one side even had a giant Mylar unicorn head poking out of it. I ordered rainbow cupcakes that were decorated with rainbows, displayed on a rainbow arch. I ordered three cases of rainbow cookies. And if the cookies and cupcakes weren’t enough, I also had a huge glass bowl of Skittles, so if you were in the mood, you could also taste the rainbow.

Now, three days later, the only person tasting the rainbow is my husband, because in addition to the yarmulkes and the programs and the rubber ducks, we also have a gallon sized plastic bag filled with leftover Skittles. Every time he walks through the kitchen, he grabs a few, and then complains about how he can’t stop eating them. I’m just glad they aren’t M&M’s. For the record, I hate Skittles. They could sit on my counter until the apocalypse and I still wouldn’t eat one.

I did manage to send a half a case of rainbow cookies home with my sister’s family. The rest are going bad in my fridge, along with a few dozen pounds of mac and cheese, succotash, chicken fingers, and squash casserole. It all tasted so fabulous on Saturday. Now just looking at it makes my mouth flood with saliva, and not in the good way. We did donate a portion of food to the soup kitchen, but even the soup kitchen doesn’t know what to do with fifteen pounds of peach poppy cole slaw. You know what starts looking like a melted rainbow three days after a party? Fifteen pounds of peach poppy cole slaw.

We had a fabulous party, really we did. And everyone seemed to be enjoying the heck out of themselves, dancing and eating and chatting and laughing. Everything looked beautiful without being excessive. It wasn’t like we hired Elton John and flew everyone to Vegas. But still, there’s nothing that makes you feel like you wasted money like watching your balloon lady pop all of the balloons in the parking lot after the event. We got to see that while we loaded eighteen floral arrangements in the car. Eighteen. Even the cats can’t eat that many floral arrangements.

So what to do with my yarmulke collection? The standard response was “make them into a quilt;” a bunch of people jokingly said that to me as I carted them out of the temple. Is there anything less snuggly than a quilt made of cheap satin beanies? Plus, when I think of satin throws, I think of satin sheets, and when I think of satin sheets, I think of cheap sex. I don’t want to think of cheap sex on a quilt made out of my daughter’s bat mitzvah yarmulkes, in bright gay rainbow colors.

I can’t exactly donate them either. If Goodwill won’t take my old booster seats, it sure as hell won’t take gently used yarmulkes. Who is going to buy them anyway? They were used for maybe an hour and a half. Now what? Send them to an impoverished nation? I doubt a third world country has a use for them either. Plus, the idea of a bunch of men wearing a beanie with my daughter’s name on it is kind of weird, don’t you think?

Which begs the question: If I can’t find a use for my old yarmulkes, what happens to all of the leftover bar and bat mitzvah yarmulkes in big towns like New York City? There are probably more yarmulkes in NYC than there are Jews to wear them. And don’t tell me to Google what to do with them because all I found was a bra made out of yarmulkes, and it didn’t exactly look supportive.

If you can think of a use for them, for any of that stuff, then let me know. Otherwise, I’m going to start scratching out her name and writing in her sister’s. Hopefully, no one will notice when it’s her turn in a couple of years. Maybe her bat mitzvah theme can be recycling. In addition to hand me down clothes and shoes and underwear, only the gently worn ones, she can have a hand me down bat mitzvah too. I’m sure that will make her feel really special, don’t you?