I have a friend who is very smart, but also very, very stupid.
He is a professor and scientist and an expert in something smaller than I can see with my eye. He is also a college friend, which means I have seen him perform antics not suitable for re-telling on this family-friendly blog.
Recently my friend went to a party, and to bring the proper party pizazz he asked his coworker Grace if he could borrow her jacket. Grace was known for having an eclectic wardrobe, and this was no ordinary jacket. As my friend describes it:
Shiny. Metallic. Vinyl. Bright pink. The only label inside reads “palm tree.” It was a custom made gift from her grandmother in China.
I’m sure you already know where this story is going. My friend went to the party with Grace’s jacket.
The jacket did not survive.
And so my friend contacted me, and with tears in his eyes told me this horrible tale. I was quiet; I let the story sink in. I mourned for Grace’s jacket and cursed my friend. And then I told him he was lucky to know another person who owned a metallic pink jacket.
Maybe he chooses his acquaintances carefully, or maybe he’s just the luckiest bastard I know. But it’s true that I happen to own such a jacket, hanging in my tiny Tokyo closet.
But a simple metallic replacement just wouldn’t do for poor Grace. We had to make up for my friend’s silly, fat-man-in-a-little-coat misstep. So I added sparkle.