i love my frans because

- every Hans needs her Frans

- she has a greeting card problem. An apparently incurable addiction, her condition causes her to purchase Hallmark howdies and hellos as if driven by some unseen need for cards of all kinds. As a result of this affliction, I have begun receiving mail from Frans on a weekly (or even bi-weekly) basis. Sometimes in twos. Her collection keeps growing, containing more cards than she could realistically send without seeming somehow insane or obsessed (which she—sorry, Frans—sort of is).

- she openly listens to Journey. And without embarrassment. Kudos to you for that, Frans.

- she struggles to make a meal selection in most restaurant situations, not because nothing sounds good, but because everything sounds good. When the server starts taking orders, she gets flustered and usually finds herself requesting two of the full-meal-deals from the menu. Sometimes she (impressively) finishes both, but more often she asks for a box, saving one of her choices for consumption at a later time, or on a different date. Like that time she ordered soup with breakfast, knowing all along she’d be eating it at home.

- she switched her cell phone service to Verizon so that she could call me every day without being charged (money or minutes) for our constant conversating. (Okay, so maybe I wasn’t the reason for the change, but she was certainly excited to discover she could start talking to me for free. And she left an urgent voicemail message to say so.)

- although I’ve mentioned it before, I must once again make note of her nerdiness, as it comforts (and compliments) me in my own. In planning any trip to Portland, she builds her budget around the following unavoidable expenses: food, gas, fun, and (yes, we are perfect for each other) Powell’s. Oh yeah, and cards.

- she can talk for ten full minutes about what happened on the Real World last night without making me feel lame for listening to and loving the reality TV recap, and without seeming at all unintelligent herself for having so alertly tuned into the program. Now that’s talent.

- she has actually entertained the notion of being with a man who (and I quote) "doesn’t know how to please a woman. In that way. At all.” We are fools sometimes, aren’t we, Frans?

- if I fail to answer my phone when she calls, she leaves the perfect I-can’t-believe-I-missed-you-again message, often including a musical medley, an only-funny-because-she-laughed-while-she-told-it joke, and something insightfully sweet about me. And she generally goes on for too long (which I love), talking and singing and snickering until my cruel cell phone secretary cuts her off unkindly.

- who wrote the Book of Love? Frans did. She loves (her family, friends, and lucky me) like it’s her job, and she’s certain there’s a someone somewhere who will love me like her Chris does her. (I can only hope he’s closer than the Alabama coast.)

- she’s brilliant and beautiful, thoughtful, hysterical, understanding and astute, alive, comforting, supportive, spiritual and silly (and so many more things), and (amazingly) she thinks I’m the same.

Frans, I heart you.