Years ago my then 20 something son was in an inebriated state and got into bar brawl. The police emerged on the scene and both boys started yelling. One policeman took Jake aside and advised, “Calm down, son, and tell me your name”. So, my son starts, “I’m…”, but because he can’t find the words he simply curses, “Jesus Christ.” Unfortunately, what the cops heard him to proclaim was, “I’m Jesus Christ”.
At least that is what is indicated in the police record.
So…my logic is this: If an ill placed pause in your primary language can land you in jail, couldn’t poorly delivered French get you killed? I often times find this paralyzingly frightful.
But not The Husband. He forges full steam ahead and hopes the good people of France can fill in any gaps. Last night he had to write a paragraph which he has to present at school today. The assignment: Describe me. In reviewing his work with me–at least at one point- I was purported to be a person in possession of short blond horses.
Tomorrow night we are meeting his classmates for drinks and I hope they are not disappointed when I show up with no ponies (and short, blond hair).
I am reminded of David Sedaris’ book, Me Talk Pretty One Day, when he recounts a day in Beginner’s French when he and his classmates are trying to explain the concept of Easter to someone who is unfamiliar with the holiday. One person summed it up nicely,
“He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples.”
At least he didn’t weared the long ponies. I mean, Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, I mean. Crap.