8/23/12

You poor child; your mother is a moron.

LORELAI: Bonjour, Luke. Pouvez-vous attacher vos chausseurs?
LUKE: What?
LORELAI: Uh, hi, Luke. Do you know how to tie your shoes?
LUKE: Very good.
LORELAI: Yup. It came in handy, let me tell you. Not one shoelace fatality on my watch.

LUKE: You have a good time [while visiting Europe]?
LORELAI: Vos odeurs de chat.
LUKE: What's that?
LORELAI: Your cat smells.
LUKE: You must've been a big hit with the salon set.



>>> about language ... and ... the putting words into sentence doing <<<


This evening, while I was working on a few mixed-media pieces for Etsy (coming soon!), a Colombian man messaged me on FB.  We had a little chat about - well, I have no idea, actually.  FB told me we were friends, but for the life of me I couldn't remember the man.

(This is an ongoing problem for me.  Forget FB.  It happens in real life.  Just to give you a little example ... I once had an unexpected house-guest - friend of a friend kind of thing - who I thought was a stranger but was actually a classmate of mine during freshman/sophomore years.  The kicker, though, was that we were in photos together.  I'd be perpetually embarrassed if it weren't for the fact that this guy and I now have a nice, somewhat-antagonistic relationship wherein we annually message each other about something we will never agree on.  Coffee.  It's a bit.  The ruder we get, the funnier it is.)

Being the type of person who likes talking to strangers (or, possibly, close friends who have been forgotten), I let the conversation carry itself to its natural end.  More specifically, the point at which he informed me that I am a model from Chile.

So that would be a no.  Apparently we have not met.

Still, it's nice to chat with a Spanish-speaking person every once in awhile.  You know, so I can pull out my handy-dandy translator thingy and pretend I actually did learn something in Spanish class way-back-when.  (In reality, I remember two specific things from that class: feeling terrified of my teacher, who would repeat the same question, in Spanish, with increasing volume until his victim either managed to answer correctly or ran away screaming; and feeling distracted by the cute boy who helped me study for tests.  So, there's that.)

I used to visit international chat rooms for this very purpose (and then promptly quit, because they are mostly frequented by strange and lonely men who may or may not be in prison).  My favorite thing about travel, hands down, is watching the people.  Where they live, how they dress, what they do, the way they sound - even when I don't understand them (and let's face it, that is often the case). 

Unfortunately, I'm no Tim (who effortlessly picks up Spanish, Italian, Chinese, and Danish in a matter of weeks - I could strangle him).  Despite the fact that we both quit our Danish class over the summer (time restrictions), he can still walk into a cafe and order something without using English once.  Case in point (I had to just google that because I thought it might be 'point in case' and then they both started looking weird, after which I began to question whether either of them existed at all - does this ever happen to you?), I am forever being asked if I moved here because my husband is Danish.  I, on the other hand, instantly forget what little I learned the moment someone speaks to me (and apparently my English is suffering as well, what with the 'case in point' thing and so on).  Or maybe I've been laughed at one too many times.  There is a guy in my church who repeatedly asks me to say something in Danish, and then starts laughing before I even try.

I have a bit of trouble at Isaac's kindergarten as well.  Last week, when I went to pick him up, this adorable little girl named Liv asked if he could come over for a play-date.  Of course I had no idea what she was saying, so another parent translated for me.  Then they left and Liv kept right on telling me things.  A lot of things.  I said 'okay' about five hundred times - and then she threw her hands up in the air, shook her head, sighed at me, and patted Isaac's cheek - as if to say, 'Oh you poor child, your mother is a moron.'

And I laughed ... which, judging by Liv's expression, was not the correct response.

I really was determined to learn Danish when we first moved here.  That was before I discovered that Danish adults speak perfect English, and I cannot pronounce any of the vowels.  And now I'm torn because, to be perfectly honest, we move back to the States next year and will probably never hear Danish again (except when our new friends come visit, maybe?).

Isaac, on the other hand, is becoming fluent.  Which is kind of awesome except for the word 'nej' (no),
... which I am beginning to hate with a fiery passion.

2 comments:

  1. Hahahaha aww, the story with Liv made me laugh, but how cool that Isaac is becoming fluent in another language! Does the school teach in English also or does he have to learn the language to make it through?

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