Day 18: omg another Shabbat??

I do believe that Israelis enjoy a good pitcher of lemonade more than the average Jew. You can argue all you want, but you know I’m right.
I was sitting by the pool at the Judaean Hostel, browning my body and sort of monitoring my chanichim in the water, when I noticed a pair of slender, hairless legs parked half a meter in front of me. I looked up to see a very large man in a neon blue Speedo gazing out across the water. His entire body was bald – not that I was intentionally staring, but his shiny, charred exterior gave new meaning to the term “eyesore.” My body tingled in vicarious pain as I outlined the T-shaped sunburn on his torso with my eyes – it stretched across his shoulders and down his smooth, waxy gut, which was only red in a narrow, vertical stripe due to the acute curvature of his beer belly. On his face was a pair of mirrored, John Lennon-esque sunglasses such that at least one part of his body would be protected from the brutal Jerusalem sun.
This leads me to another point. Israelis need to learn to wear swimwear that is appropriate for their body types. Men – leave the bikini bottoms for the women. And, ladies, if you are older than thirty, please try to dress modestly. Scratch that. If your body mass index is higher than your age, you should not be adorning a two-piece. Of course the exception to this rule is the five-year-olds running around in string bikinis, who also need to learn how to wear suitable swim attire.
Back to our friend. The lovely people at the YJ hostel had set up a table in the shade with a few pitchers of lemonade and some plastic cups. Ever the inquisitive mind, he picked up a half-full pitcher and sampled it right from the spout. In efforts to spread the wealth of his tasty discovery (or his flavorful saliva, perhaps) he poured the remainder of the lemonade into a nearby pitcher, shook it up, and then refilled the original pitcher halfway. Was this to be his personal drinking goblet? It appears not. He then took an elongated shluk from the second pitcher, allowing precious liquid to drip down his neck, and then carried it to the side of the pool where he stood for a moment, his package flapping in the breeze and his skin glistening like a bowling ball. He drank again before returning to the table and sampling the first brew once again, as the stack of plastic cups sat unnoticed.