Fender Ah! Herring

I have a terrible habit...I used to have a terrible habit of not asking for clarification if I can't understand something. This can get one into a lot of trouble.

I'm sure I've volunteered for more committees than I can count simply because I heard them say "Who wants to start a cheer?"

I always want to start a cheer! I take a deep breath and then I'm interrupted when the speaker says, "Thank you for volunteering. You'll drive the red bus filled with 70 first graders to the science fair on Saturday and Mrs. Jones will go with you in her Mercedes.

What just happened?

I say I used to have this habit because 2 years ago I thought it was a good idea to marry a Brit. A Limey. He's from England. No. He's from South Georgia because he's been a US Citizen for 25 years but he still has this funny accent.

Yes. It's sexy. I suppose. It used to be. But I swear he tells me that I'm not listening. I am listening! I just don't know what you're saying! and he doesn't like to repeat himself. So I stopped asking.

Today when he was going to mow the garden, I told him "no thank you."

"Whut?" (That's British for HUH?)

"I don't care for any water. I have some."

"I didn't ask if you wanted water. I said I was going to mow the garden."

"Number 1: Its not a garden. Its a lawn or yard. If you mow the garden, you're taking the flowers out. Don't do that. Number 2: I wasn't sure what you said so I took a stab at it. Missed."

"grumble grumble...You never listen..."

"I heard that! Are we having a row?" Did I use that word right? Row??? Just say argument. Oh those Brits.

The Scots are worse. My daughter brought home strays from college. Not animals. She's not really an animal person. She collects stray people. Its lovely.

There were many international students at the small college she attended, whom she would bring home for holidays with her since they had no where to go when the college closed for breaks. It was exciting. She once brought 7 different friends from 7 different countries for Thanksgiving.

And then she brought Bruce. Bruce was Scottish. He was a dear. Polite, friendly, courteous, and I couldn't understand a damn thing he said.

I had managed to fake my way through various conversations by relying on my trusted method: smile and nod. If that doesn't work, Smile and laugh. (and hope they are not talking about the death of a beloved pet or relative)

Seriously, everything was fine, at least I though it was, until my middle son showed up. He's a trouble-maker, that one. He will call me out every. time.

I had successfully maneuvered (some will say manipulate) conversations so there was always someone around. I'd draw my daughter into the circle and she could help her poor mother out.

The last evening we went to a "social function" (church) and Bruce and I were engaged in a...Ummm...chat of sorts. He was saying something very quickly and I smiled, nodded and darted my eyes around for anyone to help me. I caught my son and daughter, across the room, just watching me and shaking their heads.

I gave them a look of "Get over here now, or you're in big trouble."

They returned a look of "Not on your life."

So I tried another tactic..."Please come get me out of this."

They didn't change tactic...except they added, "Fuck no. Not on your life."

"Fender Ah! Herring!"

Oh! yes! hahahaha...

"Bender She flerring!" Splendid! Hehehehe, hohoho...

"How are you liking the U.S?" (I was sweating bullets and just kept laughing and smiling, and nodding)

The two devil children appeared from nowhere and still refused to help me out.

"Mom. Answer Bruce."

"I did. I said my name isn't Karen. Its Leanne. He keeps calling me Karen."

"Nope. Sharing is Caring."

"What? Is that a Scottish proverb?"

"No. That's what he's been saying. We just wanted to see how long it would take until you asked him what he was saying."

"Oh. Well here's a mother proverb for you: You all suck."