I live in an English-speaking country. I speak English. It should always be that easy, but it is not. Accents get in the way. I had a little instance the other day that left me as puzzled as I once was hearing Black Crows “Too Hot To Handle” -”Hey little thing let me light your candle cause mama I’m sure hard to handle” (I thought “sure hard to handle now” was “da-hi-na-nigh” until years later my husband set me straight).
A lovely gal/lady came up to meet me. She was very nice and we struck up a conversation about where she was from and where I was from. A very short pleasant chat. Then a man who she knows and I am getting to know comes up to visit with me. She remains completely silent throughout my conversation with this man which involves a bold complaint in a tasteful manner coming from me (that makes you wonder there, doesn’t it?). He leaves and it is the two of us girls once again. She is about ready to leave but says something, probably the length of a paragraph. It is done with a smile.
Here is what she said. I think.
“Piece of paper…..(dot dot dot indicate words I could not make out) paint…..(more words I can’t make out) hunch…..(still more words) art…..(another sentence or so missed) income.” And that was it. Those are the only words I got out of that paragraph. She walked away.We hadn’t talked about any of these words, she knows nothing of my background, etc. She was a complete stranger. And instead of saying, “Can you repeat that once more?” I smiled and said,”Yes, thanks, I am artistic.”
Sometimes I am good at asking others to repeat what they have just said. Other times I smile or nod or laugh, not quite sure, but afterwards I can often piece together words like a puzzle and make sense out of the conversation. This time my piecing of words did not lead me to anything.
Here are my conclusions in no certain order:
1. She has a hunch that I am artistic and that I could make an income out of painting. (Remember, I have never mentioned anything about art nor do I paint).
2. She thinks I could make an income out of selling my clothes. (She was looking at my clothes while she was talking).
3. She thinks I like art and has asked me to paint her nursery for her not born child. If so, I’m in trouble because my answer, “Yes, thanks, I am artistic,” just got me roped into something.
4. And this may be the most far-fetched, but maybe after listening to me complain to this man she suggested that I paint my complaints on a piece of paper.
That conversation made no more sense to me than a bunch of random words in a scrabble game and I am left only wondering. But not to worry, I will have to see her again. I could leave it and act as if I knew what she said, but I am the curious sort. I will embarrassingly figure this one out. I just hope I am not painting a nursery.
-Julie
