The Top Ten Reasons I Love Erin -- Part II.
HERE ARE THE TOP FIVE REASONS I love Erin:
5) Erin is as competitive as territorial grizzly bears, making her grace in defeat even more surprising. I observed this contradiction several years ago in her basement while beating her mercilessly at air hockey, ping pong, and eight ball.
4) Pieces of metal have been momentary fixtures on both of our faces. Once, an infinitesimal shaft of metal poked through Erin’s nostril. For some reason, I let a burly, tattooed man insert a 17-gauge needle through my eyebrow.
3) When I made a brief appearance in the U. S. in May 2004, Erin was my only friend in Indianapolis. And what a good friend she was—accompanying me to Paramount’s King Island so I could satisfy my appetite for the daunting drops and thrilling corkscrews of Theme Park America.
2) While studying abroad in Florence this summer, Erin and her delightful friend Leslie flew out to Paris to hang out with me for 36 hours. The two put up with my endless stories about Peace Corps—“Well, in Niger, I….” Always the selfless sport, I reciprocated by putting up with more than two hours of shopping at Galéries-Lafayette, including more than 30 minutes in a designer handbag (is that the correct term, Erin?) store where Erin meticulously inspected handbags (i.e., purses, the must-have accessories of the season, an overpriced amalgamation of fabrics engineered to carry a cabal of cosmetics) like she was purchasing produce at a local farmers’ market.
1) Erin has overcome her nerdy days as a champion speller. (Folks, have you seen the unexpectedly entertaining documentary Spellbound? Well, Erin qualified for the National Spelling Bee three years in a row.) She has unabashedly abandoned this persona. Need proof? Well, in the email I received from her this morning, the word “roommate” was misspelled. (Orthography is a pointless vocation, anyway. Hell, F. Scott Fitzgerald could not even spell Hemingway’s name correctly.)
5) Erin is as competitive as territorial grizzly bears, making her grace in defeat even more surprising. I observed this contradiction several years ago in her basement while beating her mercilessly at air hockey, ping pong, and eight ball.
4) Pieces of metal have been momentary fixtures on both of our faces. Once, an infinitesimal shaft of metal poked through Erin’s nostril. For some reason, I let a burly, tattooed man insert a 17-gauge needle through my eyebrow.
3) When I made a brief appearance in the U. S. in May 2004, Erin was my only friend in Indianapolis. And what a good friend she was—accompanying me to Paramount’s King Island so I could satisfy my appetite for the daunting drops and thrilling corkscrews of Theme Park America.
2) While studying abroad in Florence this summer, Erin and her delightful friend Leslie flew out to Paris to hang out with me for 36 hours. The two put up with my endless stories about Peace Corps—“Well, in Niger, I….” Always the selfless sport, I reciprocated by putting up with more than two hours of shopping at Galéries-Lafayette, including more than 30 minutes in a designer handbag (is that the correct term, Erin?) store where Erin meticulously inspected handbags (i.e., purses, the must-have accessories of the season, an overpriced amalgamation of fabrics engineered to carry a cabal of cosmetics) like she was purchasing produce at a local farmers’ market.
1) Erin has overcome her nerdy days as a champion speller. (Folks, have you seen the unexpectedly entertaining documentary Spellbound? Well, Erin qualified for the National Spelling Bee three years in a row.) She has unabashedly abandoned this persona. Need proof? Well, in the email I received from her this morning, the word “roommate” was misspelled. (Orthography is a pointless vocation, anyway. Hell, F. Scott Fitzgerald could not even spell Hemingway’s name correctly.)
posted by Drew Schmenner at 1:22 PM
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