My mother called up from her winter rental in Century Village, Boca Raton, Florida.
“Hey, Mom. How you doing?”
“Good. I saw a fabulous show last night.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
“I forgot the name.  A singing group. There is a show about them on Broadway.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“Frankie…”
“You mean Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons?”
“Yes.”
“You saw Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons?”
“No.”
“Oh, you mean they had a production of Jersey Boys at Century Village?”
“No. It was people doing the songs of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.”
“So, that’s Jersey Boys.”
“No, Jersey Boys is the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. This had no story. It was just the songs of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.”
“So, they were Frankie Valli and the Four Season imitators?”
“No, they were more imitators of Jersey Boys.”
“Jersey Boys ARE imitators of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. So what you saw was an imitator of an imitator.”
“But they were very good. Now I don’t need to pay $100 and see Jersey Boys.”
“This reminds me of when you went to Italy last year and the tour bus ran out of time, so they took you to see an imitation of the imitation of the statue of David.”
“Next week, I’m going to see Tom Jones.”
“Tom Jones is coming to Century Village?!”
“No. Someone who sings like him.”
“Then STOP saying you’re going to see Tom Jones. You’re not seeing Tom Jones. You’re seeing a Tom Jones imitator. It is confusing me when you say that. Say that you are seeing a Tom Jones imitator.”
“It says in the brochure, “Hear the music of Tom Jones.””
“Yeah, it is the songs of Tom Jones. But you’re not really seeing Tom Jones.”
“Eh, if he is good enough, does it really matter?”
“So, why don’t you hire someone who looks and sounds JUST like me to be your imitation son. That would be the same thing, right?”
“Maybe my imitation son would actually send me a Hanukkah card, hmm?”
