Never, and I repeat, never, take a swig of something that a farmer in the market says is “homemade.”
There is a story there that I am not yet fit to recount.
Never, and I repeat, never, take a swig of something that a farmer in the market says is “homemade.”
There is a story there that I am not yet fit to recount.
Eating organic sounds like an awesome idea until you cut into a nectarine and it explodes with scurrying earwigs. That is what nightmares are made of.
There is something encouraging about the language foibles of others. I’m not the only one.
Me: I say the equivalent of “I broked” in Spanish
My Spanish tutor:
Gasp
¡La barbaridad!
Wheeze
¡Horrores!
Choke
My inner Jr. Higher: I think I may say that again just to see your reaction.
Compliments can turn on you like a skateboard missing a wheel.
Lady in the market: “You two can speak Spanish perfectly!”
Me: “If you keep saying things like that we will be hanging around you more.”
Lady in the market: “Well…your wife speaks better Spanish than you.”
Me thinking: Time to go.
Part of the joy of living abroad is having to look up youtube videos on how to run your washing machine, take the tank cover off of a toilet, and open your window.
Probably one of the most sure fire way to liberate someone from the fanciful notion that truth Is relative is to cut in front of them in line.
“Weep with those who weep” rebukes my tendency to point others to their bright side during struggles, without mourning their battle.
Tanzen: “A boy at daycare is mean.”
Crystal: “Why do you say that?”
Tanzen: “Because he calls me a plant.”
Crystal: “I think you are misunderstanding his Spanish.”
Tanzen: “Oh.”
“Fish go in the sea. Not in mouths.”
Tanzen’s response to having to eat leftover fish for supper.