There's a girl in my class who's from Ireland (or Arlind as she pronounces it). If there's one thing she's learned from her studies here, it's that Americans high-five each other waaay too much. I admit that I like the high-five. To me, it's a celebration of life so eloquently demonstrated in the simple act of quickly and briefly slapping the palm of your hand against the palm of another's... Preferably "up-high", as they say.
Well, this particular Irish girl, we'll call her "Fiona", doesn't care to partake so much in this particular American celebration. It's been all the rest of us in the class can do to try to get Fiona to high-five anybody. Well, I finally got the Irish High Five.
Last night, jbox and I went out to the Padres game with Fiona, her boyfriend visiting from Ireland and another guy from class. We were explaining various things about the wonderful game of baseball and it came down to the ninth inning, and I'm sure you all saw it...
Two men on base. The crowd's going crazy. The Rally Bells have rung. Just as Barfield's stepping into the box, Fiona says to me... She says, "If we somehow win this game, I'll even give you a high-five!"
Well, I stumbled for my new fangled camera phone, just to be prepared and as I'm grabbing at it... AWESOMENESS.
Irish people should pledge high-fives more often. It's lucky.
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