The One Where Harry Styles Finds Himself A Nice Jewish Girl

Watermelon Sugar Chai

The day will begin like any other. I’ll be at the grocery store, using my WW app to scan the barcodes of ice cream, when out of the corner of my eye, I’ll catch a glimpse of a tall, slim silhouette, dressed in flared corduroys and bent studiously over a case of kosher chicken. No, I’ll think to myself. It can’t be

“Harry Styles?” I’ll ask uncertainly. “Is that you?”

Harry’s curly head will pop up, his surprised, emerald eyes locking on mine.

“Yes, it’s me,” he’ll admit sheepishly.

“I can’t believe it!” I’ll exclaim in shock.  “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he’ll say, “Quarantine has given me a lot of time to think, and since my tour has been postponed, I’ve decided this perfect time to pursue one of my secret, lifelong goals: finding a nice Jewish girl to settle down with.”

“Seriously?” I’ll ask. “And you decided to come here, to Harrisburg, PA? You know you’ll find a much larger dating pool back in LA or New York.”

“True,” he’ll concede. “But I wanted to explore someplace quieter and more intimate, with fewer paparazzi. Plus, Zayn and Gigi have made rural Pennsylvania look really sexy on Instagram.”

I’ll nod in agreement with this flawless logic. “But what are you doing here, at the grocery store?” 

“Well, I was feeling peckish, but I couldn’t find anything kosher at the nearest restaurant,” he’ll explain. “Speaking of your local fare, could you please tell me, what exactly is a Cracker Barrel?” 

“Never mind that,” I’ll reply. “I’m actually headed home to make dinner now. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Wow, I’d love to!” he’ll say. “And what a treat! I’ve always wanted to ride shotgun in a minivan.” 

Ever the British gentleman, he’ll hold the door open for me when we arrive home. “You can hang your Chanel purse in there,” I’ll say, gesturing towards the hallway closet. He’ll gratefully oblige before we head into the kitchen.

“Sooo…” Harry will say, flashing his dimples as he twirls his pearl necklace flirtatiously. “Do you have a husband?”

“Depends why you’re asking,” I’ll reply, aggressively batting my eyelashes. He’ll give me an uncomfortable look before I add, “Kidding! I do have a husband, but he won’t be home tonight. He’s a doctor and on a twenty-four shift.”

“Wow, a doctor,” he’ll say. “What inspired him to get into that line of work?”

“He wasn’t interested in becoming an accountant or a lawyer,” I’ll explain, as Harry nods sagely. 

“You know, I’ve been interested in Judaism for a long time,” he’ll confess. “I actually once lived with my Jewish producer and his wife. It’s what inspired me to get all of these tattoos in Hebrew.” 

“I know,” I’ll whisper seductively. “I read all about it on Buzzfeed.”

Harry will take a cautious breath before continuing. “Most people don’t know this about me, since I’m always photographed with Victoria Secret models, but the truth is, all those beautiful, leggy women have just been for practice. My whole life, I’ve been searching for a girl of below average height, with the kind of hair that can’t handle humidity, and a bum that just won’t quit.”

“Oh Harry!” I’ll giggle. 

“I’m serious!” he’ll implore. “I know it seems like I have it all: tremendous wealth, international fame, a successful music career, and a sensual bedtime story that broke the Calm app. But I’d trade it all to come home at night to a nice Jewish girl. Someone exactly like…you.

“Well then, I’d say it is extremely fortunate that we ran into each other at the Giant today,” I’ll say, leaning towards him. “One might even say it’s besheret.” 

“Bless you,” he’ll whisper huskily, as he leans even closer.

“So,” I’ll say when our faces are almost touching. “Are you hungry?”

“Desperately so,” he’ll admit huskily. “And I’ve suddenly got a hankering for simple carbs and Chinese food.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I got really into challah baking during quarantine,” I’ll purr, reaching for a fresh loaf and tearing it open with my teeth. 

“Oh god,” Harry will moan. 

“How about meat? Shall I heat up some brisket?” I’ll ask.

“Please! I can’t handle anymore foreplay,” Harry will interject breathlessly. “And I can’t fight these feelings any longer. Baby, I’d walk through fire for you. Just let me adore you!”

“Oh, Harry,” I’ll gasp. “Take me upstairs and devour my watermelon sugar. And afterwards, we can watch the last season of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in bed.

“But wait,” he’ll say, his voice thick with passion. “What about your husband? I wouldn’t dream of breaking up a marriage. Again.”

“Not to worry,” I’ll reply. “My husband and I actually have an agreement, should this very specific situation ever arise. I’m allowed to have one evening of passion with you, entirely free of repercussions or consequences of any kind.”

“How amazingly convenient,” he’ll breathe in awe. “Does he have a reciprocal arrangement?”

“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous,” I’ll scoff, as I take him by the hand. “Now come, let’s not waste another moment. You need one final round of practice before I set you up with one of my camp friends.”

“Wait!” he’ll exclaim, looking back lustfully towards the kitchen. “Don’t forget to bring the challah.”

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