It's Tuesday afternoon. I've locked myself in Caribou Coffee for a few hours to catch up on emails, chat with old friends, and just flat out enjoy the fact that I have the entire day off. My belongings are sprawled out over the rustic mission style sofa and my feet rest on the coffee table in front of me. After awhile, the wooden surface induces numbness in my legs so I opt to sit indian style on the sofa. As I pull my feet in, the gentleman sitting next to me suddenly makes a comment.
"What a shame, now I won't be able to look at your arches anymore." I give him a blank stare before he continues. "I manage a shoe store and you have some shapely arches."
I do, in fact, have freakishly high arches but have never before been complimented on their shapeliness. Ever.
I soak in this newly discovered prominent feature while conversing with my friend the Dutch Egyptian. We discuss my vague potential for a life in the ballet with my arches before moving on to World Cup debates. According to her, an octopus has predicted that Germany will beat Argentina. Who am I to argue with a psychic octopus?
Then it happens. The Dutch Egyptian asks me a question.
"Does a yellow card by definition mean exclusion from the next match?"
Feeling mightily important and all-knowing, I inform her, "No, if you had a yellow in a previous match, a yellow will prevent you from playing in the next. If you receive two in the same match, it means expulsion from the current match."
After she pondered my brilliance for a few moments, I ask my exorbitantly pro-European friend, "You do realize how ironic it is that you had to ask your American friend to explain the nuances of football to you, right?"
"Well," she says, "Sometimes you just have to refer to the experts."
And that is when I begin tooting my vuvuzela.
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