It’s late at night at the Prime Minister’s residence. Bibi is comfortably seated on his La-Z-Boy, reading Glenn Beck’s latest novel. As his wife Sara walks in, he puts down the book, looks over the rims of his glasses at the title, looks back again at his wife, and grins. “Ah, the irony”, he thinks to himself.
Bibi: Hey Sara…
Sara: Bibush, how are you sweetie pie? Can I get you anything?
She sits on the sofa. He cringes as he watches her heels dig into the expensive, leather cushions.
Bibi: Sara’le, we have to talk.
Sara: Oooo, that doesn’t sound good…
Bibi: Well, you’re right. It isn’t.
Sara stiffens. Bibi notices this, and takes extra precaution. He knows any false move could result in disaster. His advisors have been calling him every minute since the papers got hold of their maid’s lawsuit against them for alleged abuse, underpayment and forced work on Shabbat. They told him he had to rein her in this time. Last time, in 1996, it was the nanny. Then it was the secretary, and now the housekeeper.
Sara: OK. I’m listening. Is this about the heels? I’m taking them off, see?…
Bibi: No, no… it’s not that Sara’le… well, that too. But, not only that. It’s about the lawsuit.
Sara: Oh… OK.
Bibi: Listen, I have to ask you something.
Bibi: Did you really tell our maid to only refer to you as Mrs. Sara Netanyahu?
Sara: Yes. Is there something wrong with that?
He noticed her lips quivering as she answered. He had to tread carefully here. He turned to her mustered up the warmest smile he could produce.
Bibi: Sweetie, Sara’le… It kinda comes off, how to say, snobbish…
Sara: I just like order and heirarchy, you know, Bibi? I mean, I just like it when they respect me? You know?
Bibi: Yes, honey. I know, I know…
Sara: So, why is it so difficult to call me Mrs. Sara Netanyahu? I mean, for God’s sake, I’m the freaking first lady of Israel!
He motions her to quiet down, he doesn’t want this conversation to get into the papers as well.
Bibi: Sara, listen… how many times do I have to tell you, you’re not the first lady of Israel.
Sara: But I am!!! I am!!!! And did you just motion me to quiet down? Did I actually SEE that?
Sara: No YOU calm down! (her voice starts to take on a certain shrieking sound, similar to sewer rats in one of those Indiana Jones movies)
Sara: That Lilian is lucky I didn’t throw a shoe at her like I did that other girl!
Bibi: I know honey, she’s very lucky. She really is.
Sara: And I’ll tell you something else, Bibi… You better be careful yourself. The last time someone shooshed me down like that it didn’t end well.
Bibi: I’m sorry Sara’le…
He noticed she was running her index finger on the edge of her high-heel, over and over again. He felt very thirsty all of the sudden.
Sara: They have to learn to respect me Bibi, they must! Now everybody thinks I’m crazy!!!
He doesn’t know how to react to that one, so he just shuts up for a second. Suddenly he understands that his silence might be interpreted as an agreement (which it was, of course), so he’s to quick to find words. Any words! Something!
Bibi: I know, I know. Look, I’ll take care of it…
Sara: How, sweetie?
Bibi: I told Sheldon about it, he said the paper will fix it.
Sara: Our paper?
Bibi: Yes, Yisrael Hayom.
Sara: So glad we have our own paper, Bibush.
Bibi: Me too honey-pie.
Sara: I’m so glad I’m a child psychologist, too. Aren’t you, Bibush?
Bibi: Yes Sara’le. It’s wonderful.
Sara: I wish people would at least respect me for that, you know? I mean, if you can’t respect me for that, then, like, grow up already! Right? Like, fuck you! Right, Bibush?
Sara: I mean, I’m a fucking child psycologist, Bibi! Don’t they know that?!?!?! I’m smart!!! I am!!!
Bibi: Yes, honey, you’re very smart.
Sara: Don’t you start with me, too!
Bibi: What? I was agreeing with you, Sara’le, calm down…
He breaks into sweat. He’s decided to do anything in his powers to keep this tantrum to no longer than 5 minutes. But she lifts her shoe, pointing it at him.
Sara: And don’t call me Sara’le! Call me Mrs. Sara Netanyahu!
Bibi: Yes Mrs. Sara Netanyahu.
She takes aim…
Sara: Good! Now, I want to hear you practice those answers I wrote down for you when Obama calls next time.
Bibi: Yes, Mrs. Sara Netanyahu.
He lifts his hands in front of his face, waiting for the shoe to land on his face. He keeps saying to himself, “G-d, why couldn’t you give me shoe-dodging reflexes like George W. Bush?”
Luckily, the only thing she hits is Glenn Beck’s right eye.