As you may or may not know, November is the month of Jewish book fairs, and I'm speaking at a few of them, including one, next week, in Fort Lauderdale -- my Nanna's neck of the woods.

"I want to come hear you," Nanna said.

"Great!"

"But, you know, they're charging thirty dollars."

Pause.

"Well, I'm sure I can get you on the list."

"Fine. Fine. And I want to bring a few of my friends. But, you know, thirty dollars...."

Pause.

"Okay, let me make a few calls."

So, of course, the first call was to my mother. "Can you believe this? Nobody wants to pay thirty bucks to hear me!"

Pause.

"Wait a minute. Do I have to pay?" Mom asked.

Damn family.

Meanwhile, the freakiest thing has been happening to me at recent Jewish events -- at the last two in a row, I've had women roughly my age come up and say, "My name's Jennifer Weiner, too!"

I don't know whether to say "Wow, that's cool," or "Ugh, I'm sorry."

Jen