What comes around goes around

Even before I ever studied abroad, I had a knack for befriending international students. In church youth group in junior high, it was Suzanna from Brazil. In high school, it was Andrea from Switzerland and Tim from England. (I always felt a little sorry for the foreign students who decided to spend a year in the States and then lo and behold, they get plopped smack dab in the middle of Idaho). And there are too many names to mention from college.

But the friend I thought of tonight was Jean-Pierre. I met him at our campus writing center when he came in to get some help with a paper he was writing for one of his MBA courses. Jean-Pierre was (and still is) the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with startling blue eyes, and a French accent to boot. "Can you help me with zis paper?" he asked.

Sure, just as soon as I can speak proper English again, I thought as I scooped my chin off the table.

But despite my initial infatuation with his Frenchness, I quickly learned that his Frenchness came with a dark side, including a girlfriend. And while he might have been willing to forget about that pesky detail, I was not.

Nevertheless, we became good friends and spent a lot of time together, including dining in the student cafeteria. I remember thinking it very, very odd that the Frenchman sitting at the table with me insisted on eating his French fries with a fork.

"Jean-Pierre," I admonished. "Just because you're French, doesn't mean you know the right way to eat French fries. Anyway, French fries are Belgian. Furthermore, French fries are finger food. That means you eat them with your FINGERS."

"Well, in France we eat pommes frites with a fork," he retorted as he stabbed a fry and took a bite.

I never did convince that Frenchman of the proper way to eat French fries in America.

But tonight I ate humble pie.

Actually, I ate French fries. With a fork.

And to add insult to injury, I didn't order fries. I was at a British pub, so they served me some chips along with that humble pie.