Muffin Tins and Egg Cartons and Betsy Ross

Sarah is an enneagram twelve. She’s sure of it.

If you have not heard of the Enneagram, this isn’t the place to learn about it. On all things typology, Sarah prefers to swing between radio silence on her blog and outrage from her couch. 

That is why I, the sister who enjoys the more intellectual pursuits of life, have taken it upon myself to shed some light on the topic. She would rather attend an American Legion parade in 103-degree weather than dignify the Enneagram “fad” by giving it attention on her blog.

As it stands, the task is left to me to explain. Since I value our relationship in general and her generous trips to Dunkin’ Donuts in particular, a lengthy explanation seems precarious. I’m already walking on fragile interweb turf. I don’t want to fall through a digital rabbit hole and meet the OshKoshBGosh wearing Sarah of 2005 as she sits down at her giant Dell computer to check her emails. I’d just rather not, so the Enneagram background story will be shorter than the laundering instructions stitched on the inside of pair of overalls.

The Enneagram system suggests that, in general, human beings see the world in nine different ways. These “lenses” influence the way a person sees herself, her relationships, and her purpose in life. Sarah and I have visited several times since the Enneagram entered our lives. Every time, she asks, “What do you think I am again?” She doesn’t ask because she really wants to know. She asks, “So I can speak your language, Squidzen.” Obviously, she doesn’t listen. This is why we cover the same information at least 27 times per visit.

“What number do you think I am again, Squidzz?”

“Well, you’re not supposed to tell other people what they are. But I think you’re a Six. This means you’re very loyal and also can tend to be anxious and prepare for the worst.”
“What!? I’m not anxious! When do I prepare for the worst? I’m very upbeat and positive!”
“You sleep with a baseball bat under your bed. You said it’s there to defend yourself against intruders. And you do have about 3,492 boxes of bandaids, about 17 flashlights in your car, and a glove compartment full of coffee supplies that you’ve collected for months in case Dunkin Donuts runs out. Plus, any time I frown, you ask me if I’m about to climb on a roof and jump off.”
“Well, it’s because YOU are a UPS. A CVS. An EFIPHGJ.”
“You mean an INFP. And an HSP. A highly sensitive person.”
“Oh, my word. AREN’T WE ALL? I don’t like hearing the neighbor’s dogs barking in the middle of the night! I don’t like it when loud noises disturb my sleep! But that’s not because I’m a SPHEGU. It’s because I have a very talkative daughter and would prefer not to have a talkative dog intruding on my beauty sleep.”
“I think it’s more than that….”
“WELL, I DON’T! IT’S RIDICULOUS!”

I sigh. 

It’s only a matter of time until she asks me all over again.

However, just a few weeks ago, we had a breakthrough.

We’d just finished watching You Before Me. During the opening credits, Sarah had insisted that we should cry. Not having understood the plot at all, I did not comply. But Sarah went above and beyond the call of duty. She announced that she had been crying real tears. In wonder, I insisted that she remove her glasses so I could inspect her eyes. She did and, sure enough, tears dribbled down her face. I was thrilled.

For a while, we both lay on the couch. The late hour and the tragic movie quieted us. Then, Sarah put down her phone.

“I’m DEFINITELY a twelve.”

I was no longer sleepy. “What?”

“I’m a twelve. All the greatest people are twelves.” 

She flicked her finger over the screen of her phone and exhaled in a superior way.

“Twelves are well-behaved, VERY well-behaved,” she said. “Twelves like glitter and sparkles. Betsy Ross was a twelve. The Founding Fathers wanted to create an  American flag that only had stripes. Betsy was appalled. She added the stars. If it wasn’t for Betsy, the American flag would be completely made out of stripes. That’s what twelves do–they add stars to things.”
“Wow!” I was amazed. “Do you know of any other twelves?”
“Oh, sure. Betsy Ross is the original twelve. But Kate Middleton, Hoda Kotb, and Dick VanDyke are also twelves. Twelves are funny. Well-loved. All the positives.”

As I lay and watched the blur of Sarah’s finger racing over Words with Friends, the reality began to set in for me. It’s no coincidence that a muffin tin holds twelve muffins, an egg carton holds twelve eggs, the year holds twelve months, a foot has twelve inches, and recovery programs have twelve steps. Roses, jury members, and the Days of Christmas come in twelves. Jesus even chose twelve Apostles.

Come to think of it, maybe her type needs no intellectual explanation. Their zany touch is all around us.