Once in a while the strangest blonde moment creeps up — no offense to the blondes, just using it as a cliche — that truly embarrasses me. We were driving along the dusty backroads of the French countryside (Normandie!) when the Hubby looks skywards sharply, points a finger, and says “Hawk!”.
Me (puzzled and looking up): PORK? (I swear I heard him say “Pawk”, as in the British pronunciation for “Pork”)
Hubby (even more puzzled): HAWK! Big bird. Hawk!
Me (realizing the absurdity of a high-flying piece of meat, and trying to be cool about the sudden drop of IQ): Oh, HAWK, right. ok.
Hubby: Pork? Why would I say “Pork”? I was pointing at the sky….
Me: I don’t know. That’s what I thought I heard. But hey, you never know. You know what they say — “when pigs fly….”
Nonstop shaking of head and laughing between us. You’d think by now these lost-in-translation moments would long have banished. Oy vey.