First one takes place while I’m violating my cholesterol probation at the lunch counter of Hunter House, a venerable, must-get-acquainted-with, landmark burger stand near my new home.
Woman just off my shoulder, after struggling to order: “I am sorry. I do not speak this language well.”Second one is between me and a neighbor with daughters on the swim team that practices at the city pool where I’ve been wondering for about eight weeks now why my splits are a tick slower than I think they ought to be.
Late teen, early-20s guy working the grill: “What language do you speak?”
Grill guy: “So do I.” And a short unintelligible-to-me transaction later, one more happy customer has her burgers.
Me: “Is that pool 25 yards or 25 meters?”Okay, that second one neither sounds interesting nor makes me look especially bright, but I very much liked the information it yielded.
The first one just made me happy once I could believe it was actually taking place.
Life is good, and once in a while the pleasures really are that simple.