My husband thinks he can understand Spanish. He thinks this because he likes to watch the Spanish television channels on cable. Yes, yes, this is the man I love. I’ll walk into the room and think surely he’s got to be just randomly channel surfing when, low and behold, the remote is on the coffee table and he’s kicked back and totally engrossed. I like to ask him what the hell he’s watching just to see that smile he gets while letting me know the plot of the show, as he sees it unfolding. Also he likes to say the words he thinks he is identifying, father…. mother…. burrito.... airplane/ or maybe dragonfly, that one could have gone either way.
And as if that wasn’t enough, we switched cars a week or so ago. When I was clicking through his preset stations, to find something entertaining to listen to, guess what I found on preset number 5. That’s right folks. A Spanish channel. I had to laugh out loud for that one because come on, you have to admit it is a little amusing. Can you just see the looks on peoples faces when he rolls up to a stoplight, with the windows rolled down, and someone looks over and my husband is jamming out to Spanish Top 40?
Having said all this, I thought I’d be clever and buy him a Spanish birthday card one year for his Birthday. Knowing, of course, that he doesn’t read, speak or understand Spanish, but nonetheless I thought it was a brilliant idea. It was in the Happy Birthday section. However it very well could have said ‘Get Well’ on the outside and, on the inside, ‘Sorry to hear about your explosive case of diarrhea. I sure hope your ass is okay’.
I guess we’ll never know.
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