I'm married to the Soup Nazi!

This must have happened, somewhere in New York. Some ordinary woman, standing in the queue at a check-out counter, starts screeching on her cellphone. All you can make out is “I can’t believe it… I cannot believe it. You’re going to be on Seinfeld? That’s a-mazing. What?! You’re a Soup Nazi? What the hell is a Soup Nazi?” And then we all get to hear about how her husband is about to star on Seinfeld, and how it’s not a regular gig, but it’s still Seinfeld, and for an ordinary New Yorker like herself, that’s reason enough to scream histerically into a phone at the local grocery store.


the husband

Well, I’m not married to the Soup Nazi, but my husband, who I neglect constantly and leave behind, chained to his computer, is about to play a secondary role in a tv show. Granted, it’s a french tv show and it’s a comedy, which automatically means it won’t be funny. But, this means maybe one day, his character will become eponymous for some greater understanding of our culture. Some one-liner you can rip and everyone’ll be like “yeah… he’s so Crockett!”… right… ok… shut up, you sneering over there.

Anyways… where was I… “And he’s not even an actor by profession! Crazy. Am I married to the french version of Larry David? Will our marital misadventures one day be fodder for night-time laughs? Will he go bald? "