Did I ever tell you guys the story of how I got a letter from President Obama on my 13th birthday?
No, please share
Okay, so when Jewish boys/girls turn thirteen, they have a ceremony called a bar/bat mitzvah. It’s a way to symbolize that we have become a young man/young woman, and it’s a big rite of passage for us.
At the time of my bat mitzvah, my uncle, who serves in the navy, had a job at the white house (one time he gave me and my family a tour, but that’s a story for another day). So, he worked at the white house, and it’s not like he was hanging out with the president all the time or anything spectacular, but he did know my uncle by his first name, so that was cool and important.
Anyways, a little while after my bat mitzvah and my 13th birthday, I received this in the mail:
At first I was already like, “whaaa??” My parents didn’t seem to know what it was about either. So I opened it, and, lo and behold:
along with:
So…yeah. My uncle was able to get the former president of the united states to send me a letter congratulating me on my bat mitzvah when I turned 13. Hope you enjoyed my story!
This is officially the Lucky Obama Birthday post, reblog and you’ll get a special present on your next birthday
You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.
You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?
You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”
He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”
This one wins.
It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up. She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out. First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.
Clark’s introducing her around. “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”
You blink, and take a step back in fear. You’ve never seen an 11 before.
