Life Lesson #8: Pie = Love

Let me tell you something...

Man, it's been a long time since I posted. Bad Mona. A lot of things have been happening in the past week including increasing nostalgia for UNC, last club meetings, and end of interesting English undergrad classes for the rest of my life. It's going to be all science from now on so I must rely on this blog to break up the monotony that will eventually take over my life. With all these wrap-ups occurring, I realized my next Life Lesson to share with you.

Life Lesson #8: Nothing says "I love you" more than a pie smashed in your face by your supposed friends.

When: Wednesday April 23, 2008.
Where: Some weird basement part of Teague Residence Hall that looked like it had seen way better days.

What happened, monapoly? It was my last MSA meeting as an undergraduate. To many this may be nothing, but you have to realize, dear reader, how much this organization means to me. I not only met fellow Muslims on campus through this association, but gained lasting and beyond meaningful brothers and sisters. I'll stop here with the gushy descriptions in fear that I may leak tears and ruin my keyboard.

So anyway, it was my last meeting and the event was turning more and more nostalgic for me as the night wore on. I was embarrassed beyond reason by a certain gift from a friend who shall remain nameless (cough Faiza cough), and remembered and appreciated beyond my comprehension through senior dedications and shout outs. However it wasn't until what happened next, that I realized how much I was loved here.

The MSA members called anyone and everyone of the seniors who had served on Shura in front of the congregation. I self-consciously and awkwardly made my way to the front to receive a beautiful poster of the Old Well along with my fellow senior Shura members. However, I was not fooled by this sudden burst of affection. There was something really fishy going on behind those saccharine smiles of the audience and especially behind those of the presenters. My eyes immediately started zoning in on anything out of the ordinary.

That's when I saw them. The five not so inconspicuous brown bags lined up in a neat row off to the side. I'm no simpleton, and being an avid MSA member, I knew exactly what they held -- pies. And before you gush, "awwww, they bought pies as gifts", please realize this was no holiday party where you bring a host a dessert to eat. These punks were planning on creaming us in the kisser in return for all of our dedication to MSA. I quickly assessed the situation and realizing I was the only girl there, prayed that they would have mercy on me and let this female hostage free. I didn't even formulate the prayer properly when the pie hit me full force in the face, coating not just my face, but my hijab and somehow my sleeve. I must have put it up for protection or something.

It wasn't until Ola helped me clean the whipped cream and pie crust off my face, and I hugged my friends with tears stinging my eyes that I realized these people must love me a whole lot to waste food like that and humiliate me in front of the entire club. Not to mention the fact they apparently loved me enough to take terrible pictures of the incident as well, promising hey will show up on my wedding slideshow in the future. Yup that's a whole lot of love right there. Punks.

My conclusion? As famous playwright Oscar Wilde once said, "A true friend stabs you in the front." In my case the weapon of choice was pie.