Murray, the Shadkhan, was tired. [shadkhan -- Jewish marriage broker]. For three months, he had been trying to find a wife for Mrs. Shapiro's precious son, Bernard. The butcher's daughter? Not refined enough. The baker's daughter? Too fat. The moyle's daughter? Too dull. The rabbi's daughter? Not sufficiently devout. Truth be told, Bernard was no great catch, but in Mrs. Shapiro's eyes, he was a Prince of the Realm, and only the perfect girl would do. As he sat in his kitchen drinking tea from a glass and listening to reports of the elevation of Crown Princess Elizabeth to the English throne, a thought crossed Murray's mind. The Princess Margaret Rose was still single. Could this be the solution to his problem? To be sure, she wasn't Jewish, but she was rich as Croesus, and a princess to boot! He put on his hat and his best coat, and rushed off to talk to Mrs. Shapiro.
It was not easy. Was she pretty? Mrs. Shapiro wanted to know. As beautiful as Queen Nefertiti! Good manners? She is a PRINCESS, he protested. But she isn't Jewish. She'll convert, I'm sure of it. Murray was desperate, and even Mrs. Shapiro was growing restive. Finally, after one last rehearsal of her objections, reluctantly, she agreed to allow Bernard to marry the Princess Margaret Rose of England, but only if the wedding was held here in town so that her friends could come and burn with envy.
A great weight lifted from his shoulders, Murray put on his coat and hat and stepped out into the street. His eyes lifted heavenward, he said a silent prayer. Then, with a shrug, he pulled himself together, and said, aloud: "Well, that's half of it."