Saturday, October 9, 2010

Fear. Foonf. Sex.


What an imbecile you feel when you can’t speak a language at all.  I feel bad now for offhandedly dismissing friends and family in Paris – ‘Just speak French – say bonjour – you’ll be fine.’  You really do feel like a dick.  I don’t know much German other than hello, goodbye and wiener schnitzel and I keep saying them in the wrong places.  Today when ordering peaches I asked for sex and got self-conscious so asked for foonf, mainly because I liked the sound of it, and got sex.  I think foonf means five.  I like saying it so much.  Foonf.  Foonf.  I’m driving The Love mental.  I also love saying schnitzel and wiener and eine kleine and NEIN.  I also like making up words like getten and drinken and waterschund and schleipschen (can you getten me ein drinken of waterschund – I’m tired and need a little schleipschen) – stuff like that.  It’s addictive once you start.  And extremely annoying for those around you.  So that makes it even more fun. 
You should try it.
Don’t you think ‘meine liebe’ is the loveliest way in any language to say ‘my love’?  That’s the real way of saying it.  ‘Meine liebschen’ is nice too, but I think I made that up.  In my mind it means ‘my little Love’.     
Berlin ischt fantastic – we’re living in a street called Schielemanstrasse which is also a great thing to say over and over again. 
Schielemanstrasse.
Schielemanstrasse.
Strasse means street.  When you speak German you need to try to have lots of variation in your tone, exactly the opposite to French.  Wiener schnitzel is a good place to start.  WIEner schNITzel.  Once you’ve got that down it helps for the rest of the intonations. 
WIEner schNITzel.
WIEner schNITzel.
Foonf.  I needen to have a little schliepschen after our long walk today.  The Love took us so far in the wrong direction after the markets that he had to walk on tiptoes all the way back because his feet got so sore.  It was fun out there, we ate great felafel and the yummy peaches and watched kids in the playground and then went and had a beer at a place so I could go to the toiletten and when I went in there the ladies’ was blocked and a man came out of the men’s and trapped me and said something indecipherable like,
“Eine schlippen wiener schnitzel.”
And I said. 
“Sorry.  Eine not sprekschen si Doitch.”
And he said.
“You nice lady.”
And I stared at him, not knowing what to say, trying to get around his large body but he was too big.  And he said,
“I would like to sponsor your eat.”
And I said,
“Dankajen.  I think meine husband can do that.”
And he said,
“You nice lady,” again and then wiped his wet hand on my jumper in a gesture of friendship and went out. 
So I didn’t get to pee and we went the wrong way and then limped all the way home, The Love on tippy toes, me with overfull bladder trying desperately not to laugh at his poncy walk.  And now we’re woozy back in our apartmenten, eating Carambars and more peaches and drinking waterschun, looking out our window over Berlin.
Daschund.
Volkswagen.
Time for that kleine schliepschen. 

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