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Their pleather straps strained to contain my doublewide feet. The poor things looked like they couldn't stomach my enormous toes and were forced to puke them out. I heard keys jangle behind me. Turning around, I saw a rabbi walking through a door -- the one I had been knocking on (desperately, I admit) only a few minutes earlier. He looked too celebs young to be a spiritual advisor. "Hi, Rabbi Silverman?" celebs I asked. "Emily?" he replied. "That's me," I said, getting up. As I extended my hand, celebs he shied away, explaining that men and women are not to touch unless they are married, father and daughter, or mother and son. At least I think that's what he said; I was almost too embarrassed to hear him, what with the blood flooding my ears and all. I followed him into the sanctuary feeling very silly and sat down with him at a long folding table -- the kind I associate with church potlucks. "So Emily, what brings you here? You mentioned on the phone that you were looking to convert.
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