One of my very good friends is learning how to speak Arabic.
I have no idea why, but it is just so like her that I didn't even bat an eyelash when she told me. It was like the time she woke up and decided "I think I'll run a marathon today" or the time she said, "I think I'll join the Marines." (That one was a close one--and another story entirely.) "I'm going to law school." "I'll be spending a semester in England." Aside from some scary parasitic intestinal bug she brought back from a trip to India, most of her adventures are a good time.
She's the type of girl who will put her 11-months-pregnant friend into the Porsche, shushing her protests with "The seats are leather, we'll be fine." It is most unfortunate for me that she lives out of state now. (But probably safer.)
Her name is Janna, she's a knockout, and she's learning Arabic. She told me her name in Arabic is 'jen na'; one of the seven levels of paradise.
Of course. Would it be, could it be, anything else?
I had to respond, "My name must be related to the seven levels of mess in my house. The seven levels of insanity I go through every night from the time the backpacks are dropped on the floor until bedtime. The seven levels of grime my floor. The seven levels of "No. Because I said so." Surely, nothing as glamorous as one of the seven levels of paradise. I am picturing something more in line with nine circles..."
I'm kidding, of course. I know all about the seven levels of paradise.
I just haven't been able to assume that position since about 1992.