I pride myself with speaking English, French and Spanish, and although I’m not vain or conceited I sometimes want others to acknowledge my talents. And by others I mean especially D.
One day, while at the Botanical Garden we were sitting on a small bridge in the Chinese Gardens when a group of people arrived. They admired the view for a few moments and then started talking in a language that was oddly unfamiliar to me.
I perked my ears and listened. Then I had a major light bulb moment. And I was so proud of my Ewrika! moment that I had to share it with D who was sitting next to me. So I whispered in his ear: “do you know what language they’re speaking?” which I guess he wouldn’t give a damn about since he didn’t seem the least intrigued, neither about the dialect nor about my obviously uncanny
ability superpower of guessing the nature of that odd language.
He, nevertheless politely enquired: “what language?”. As in “… and make it quick. I don’t have the time or the patience for any of your lengthy explanations.”
“Greek!” I said, proudly. I was so convinced of this because I had managed to recognize the poignant “sss” specific to the inhabitants of ancient Ellada.
Alas, I didn’t quite savor the sweetness of the moment because D burst out laughing. “Really? Greek? I don’t think so!" Listen closely.”
And so I perked my ears again only to hear “Pero no puedo mas! Dame la cámara.”
Obvious, face-slapping SPANISH! How could I mistake this for Greek? Spanish and Greek, not even from the same family! It was the damn “sss” I tell you. I got too excited and lost my head because of the damn “sss”.
And all the while D would not shut up with the ironic comments “I will remember this FOREVER” and the laughter!
Oh the shame!
Now every time we hear someone speaking Spanish D doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind me of this moment “Listen hon’ they’re speaking Greek!”
Taken that same day at the Botanical Garden: