Satan can’t read savior!

So on the day Winter roared back into Crimson City (last Friday), there was a reunion of sorts of the subsection I was in during my first year here. I was not looking forward to it. Satan (aka Mr. Destroyer), The Bride (aka Ms. Destroyer), and the Mormon Who Loved Them (aka MWLT)? Uch. And the fact that I was going to have to walk over a mile in six inches of snow to get to the host’s house was not … inspiring. To say the least.

But the snow wasn’t so bad. It was a warm snow, not the driving, freezing hail that blows into your eyes and numbs your face. I overshot the MWLT’s place by a quarter mile, but I didn’t mind much. It was hushed and calm, there were few cars or people out (except the crazy undergrads). A group of kids were playing in the snow in the courtyard of MWLT’s apartment complex; to my surprise, a girl about 10 years old called out a greeting, and said, “Look, we’re making an igloo.” Cool, I said, and walked around to the kids’ side of the mound of snow to see. There was a small hole and another kid digging industriously. “We want to make it big,” the girl confided, “all the way through.” Cool, I said again, and told them I’d check on their progress on the way out.

Kids! Friendly kids! It was kind of awesome. I just don’t expect that kind of friendliness from people.

Inside, seven of us eventually made it to eat … dessert. Which was kinda weird in itself, because the evening was scheduled for 7:30, and I think a couple of us expected it to be dinner, with the guests providing dessert. Not an irrational assumption, is it, when the evening starts at 7:30? Whatever.

Mr. Destroyer (aka Satan) arrived last, even after me, but the anticipation for his arrival was high – he had made chocolate mousse, put it into glasses, put the glasses into one of those six-pack boxy things you buy beer in, and biked 2 miles on icy roads with the whole contraption in his backpack. So people were eager to see if he’d made it.

We chatted amongst ourselves. It was fine. I caught up with people I usually didn’t see. And then, because we are huge geeks, we started playing an electronic version of Taboo, which consisted of getting your teammates to guess your word and then passing the gamebox on until time ran out, at which point whichever team was holding the box lost a point.

(Yes, this has a point.)

So, we’re playing along and it’s Satan’s turn. I’m sitting next to him, so I lean over and take a look at the word, and I’m totally baffled when he says, “There’s no way I can describe this! This is impossible. I don’t think that’s even a phrase in English!” I’m baffled, because the word is “savior,” and it’s should be relatively easy to get that out of people, especially with a Catholic guy on your time. But no, Satan complains a bit more and starts saying things like, “Um, it’s French! And it’s like, knowing how to do things!”

I’m baffled a bit more.

“It’s part of a French phrase!”

And then it clicks. He thinks it’s “savoir,” which is part of “savoir-faire,” which I believe is in the lyrics of Puttin’ on the Ritz, but that’s neither here nor there.

So I say, “That’s not the word, fool! Read it again!”

And he does.

And the buzzer rings.

And I laugh. So do all the others.

But I laugh harder. Because of COURSE he couldn’t read the word “savior” right. He’s Satan!

(Hey, I didn’t say this story was meaningful or anything.)