Tony is our neighbor out at the Farm. He’s Spanish…and I don’t mean Spanish like Division Spanish, I mean Spanish like Barcelona Spanish. He’s short, he’s got impecable taste in wine, and he’s one of the nicest guys on earth. We’re lucky to have him and his family out there. He’s also got the world’s thickest accent. My brain always goes into a 3-second delay when we talk because I have to match words…which makes my respose a little slow…which makes me look a little dumb, but hey. I find that it helps if I squint my eyes when I listen to him…my translation skills double. Just sayin’. Try it. Go ahead, try it.
So, the other night our home phone rings…and I answer.
Hey- days a fiyah on you pro-pe-ty
me: hello? A what?
A fiya! You betta git out heya!
me: Tony! Hi! There’s a fire out at the propoerty?
Yes! Yes! A fiya!
me: A fire? Are you kidding me?
No! Days trucks everywhere out heya. You betta hurry.
me: But it’s winter! There’s snow everywhere (sort of)!
Aw…I’s jus jokin’ wit you. I play joke. Funny, eh? *hehehe* Aw…I got you, Keht!
me: Tony. That’s not funny. It could be funny, except the last time you called there actually was a fire.
me: (a little sour) So, how’s Spain doin’ in the Olympics?
Ohhhh..you know, we are a veddy veddy small country…I tink maybe we have only 1 man in the Olympics this time.
me: So, not very good is what you’re sayin’…no medals or anything.
No, no…no medals.
He was calling to let us know our neighbor had put his house up for sale…which is nice…really…it’s nice.
I dreamed that night of sirens and charred grass and idoit fire rings and stupid young kids that all looked like me.
But I’m ok. Nothing another week of therapy can’t fix.
Tip for the week: when sorting laundry, sort the white pile far far away from the red pile. Trust me.