Erika

As I stepped through the door last night armed with 2 bottles of wine and some parmigiano reggiano from Wisconsin (Italian immigration is never letting me through again), Erika greeting me with her usual squeak and squeeze. She was sporting a tight black tank top with an image of three sequined cocktail glasses and the caption: Group Therapy.

She immediately advised me that there were 2 Romanian seamen in her back yard. Knowing Erika, of course there were.

Erika likes Show (not Tell) so I was presented to the two strapping, twenty-something Romanian lads lounging on the back patio. One had just sailed across the Atlantic in a Tall Ship. The other is a first-year graduate at the U.S. Naval Academy.

Justin, Jess, and Jeremy (yes, three J's; no, they haven't had t-shirts made) arrived and were duly presented. Waker finished cooking, dinner and wine were ingested, and Essential Romanian was practiced (don't ask about course content).

Then, before they hit the deck as it were, Erika gave them ice pops. You know, those retro treats that look like giant toothpaste tubes of Drano. The fact that she even had them on hand - and that it was important to her to offer them to the Romanians - is just an example of her charm. Erika is the great unifier. Adopter of the universe. Mama to all. Cheerful Shakti. World traveled multiculturalist I-will-not-be-shhhh'd! trail blazing minx.

Doru tried to pull rank at the table and command Marius to eat his scary-looking ice pop.

I said: Don't listen to him. He is not the commanding officer here. Erika is...

To which Waker replied: Erika isn't the commanding officer; Erika is God.

In her world, she sure is. Don't mess.