Monday, July 20, 2009

I speak English

So, day two of all our shit in the new apartment, and I'm discovering a problem that has nothing to do with the box pyramids we have built in the center of every room and the completely fake drawers in our kitchen.

The problem is that people down here say things to me and it's like it's not in a human language. Somewhere in the middle of their sentences I realize that they've been speaking and not just humming or making animal noises and that I should start paying attention and see if I can figure out what they want.

For example, while Houseboy was hauling our dresser on his back and I was carrying in a pillow or something, the guy who does random man-type work on our building started talking to me. It went something like this:

Him: {garble gobble} black poodle?
Me: [Looking around] Huh?
Him: {gibble bobsty} yer black poodle?
Me: [Looking at our neighbor's chihuahua, that's wandering the yard] Um. No?
Him: Aw right then.
Me: Does it have a collar?
Him: [No response]

I gathered later from Houseboy that there had been a black poodle seen wandering, and he was asking if it was ours. The chihuahua was just a coincidence designed to make me feel like an insane person.



  1. The scary day will be when you realize that you no longer have any trouble understanding the Southern accent at all. You will be forced to hang your head in shame and then say something like, "Don't get yer panties in a wad I'm fixin' ta get you some supper."

    When that can never go back.