My sons’ Spanish teacher has apparently given up, and the curriculum now solely consists of them watching Spanish soap operas.
Xavier: “None of us understand enough Spanish, so it’s just a bunch of gibberish, and then a dog runs away, and someone has an affair.”
Liam: “Don’t forget about the ghosts.”
Xavier: “Oh, yeah…and there are ghosts.”
In order for you to get the full impact of this story, you need to picture my daughter…the 5′ 3″, 105 lb high school freshman.
Me: “So…how was detention?”
Caolinn: “There was a small incident.”
Caolinn: “I was in the back, getting my biology homework done, and this huge Mexican kid…I think he’s a junior…comes and sits behind me, and starts saying all this obscene stuff about me in Spanish to the kid sitting next to him.”
Me: “Uh oh. What did you do?”
Caolinn: (In Spanish) “Next time you start talking about someone’s boobs, make sure they haven’t been taking Spanish since Pre-K, you stupid little bitch.”
Me: “What did he do!?”
Caolinn: “He looked so scared; he got up and sat by the teacher.”
Me: “I shouldn’t…oh, my, God…” (laughing uncontrollably)
I have never been happier in my life, to NOT speak Spanish, because if I did…I’d know that this advertisement isn’t as dirty as my imagination wants it to be.