Meshka was the kvetch of her village. Kvetch is a Yiddish word that means complainer. And complain is just what Meshka did from morning to night. Nothing was right. Her son was like a bump on a kosher pickle. Her daughter seemed to forget Meshka was alive. Her house was a box. And so it went, while the other villagers listened and shook their heads. Until the day that the terrible thing happened to Meshka. The droll justice of the fate that comes upon her will tickle readers young and old.
