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From the American Scene: The Logic of My Aunt Yetta
- Abstract
My Aunt Yetta examined the display of cookies on the counter. Her eyes roved restlessly from pan to pan. Finally her fingers swooped down. She was happily “feeling” some pieces to see if they were fresh.
“Lady,” the baker roared, “don’t handle the cake.”
“That’s cake?” my Aunt Yetta said in utter amazement. “I thought it was zweiback.”
How my aunt arrives at such conclusions no one knows. The baker—like everyone else treated to the operations of my aunt’s mind—opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He raised his hands in a gesture of helpless defeat. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold out the next day. My Aunt Yetta affects people that way.
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