Life in translation

English is my husband’s second language, and I often say that we live our lives in translation. I have never had any difficulty understanding him, but sometimes, what comes out of his mouth leaves me in fits of hysteria.

For three years, we both worked from home and I would sit in my home office in fits of laughter listening to him have conversations with his contacts in various non-English speaking countries and wonder how much they actually understood of one another. (I suggested always confirming phone conversations in email after one particular conversation when I was certain, after hearing my husband say the same odd thing multiple times, that the other party had no idea what he had said, despite repeated affirmations of yes, yes, yes, I understand Mr. Bill.)

Well, last year, my hubby was in Nepal on a business trip and for the first time ever, allowed his colleague to convince him to get a massage. He has never been a fan of being touched by strangers. So, he is taken to a room and asked what he wants and for how long. He decides on a 30 minute leg massage. The young lady does her thing and he is surprised that he enjoys it. At a certain point, the young lady says, “Penis.”

Thinking, uh oh, this must be one of those kinds of places, he say, “No, thank you.”

She repeats, “Penis.”

He repeats, “No, but thank you.”

She says again, “Penis, penis!”

He reiterates, ”No, no.”

She takes a breath and says, “Thirty minutes. Penis!” and points to the door.

Aha. He finally hears what she means to say.

“Ohhhhhh, finished.” He blushes, laughs and gets up, replying, “Sorry. Okay. Thank you.”