Advertisement

It was then that a swell of pickled, kosher lust burst forth from my densely coiled loins. This is the bracelet for the queen of the bat mitzvah girls.

It’s the iconic heart tag charm bracelet, given to the richest of 13-year-old suburban brunettes, except it’s $85 more expensive and shouts, “You only have one tag, bitch, I have all the tags. I am queen of the tags! Go ahead and suck on this clit while I mix-belt my haftorah portion!” It’s a trophy bracelet of Jewish girl teeth, of bat mitzvahs you skipped and, in your absence, ruined. Of families that have sent themselves into bankruptcy trying to recreate your nighttime Broadway-themed Park Hyatt party, where everyone got king-sized candy bars to take home, as well as a key chain video recording of them lip-syncing to one of a choice of four different Sutton Foster songs with the tap dance break.

Advertisement
Advertisement

This is the one bracelet to rule them all, and I have to have it.