Until quite recently I’ve been pretty certain my wife speaks English. There have been numerous clues over the years leading me to this deeply held belief. In the first place, from the moment I met her English is the language we both seemed to be using. She obtained an advanced degree in education at one of our fine southern universities. Sure, you might suggest that southern and English aren’t exactly the same. I would counter that American English and English English aren’t exactly the same either, but we manage to communicate.
Let me explain how all of this started to unravel on me a couple of weeks ago. It was the first Saturday where there were more football games than infomercials on the tube. Yes indeed it was the first day of football nirvana. I had just settled down on the couch and programmed the remote to move smoothly through six games being televised at the same time.
My wife casually inquired about plans for the day. I told her there would be enough football on television to totally occupy day and night. She said, “Fine.” I sat back, satisfied with my life and seemingly having it all. I had what every man dreams of, football on the tube and a wife who didn’t mind if I spent the day watching it. I knew that because she told me if I chose to vegetate on the couch all day it was, fine.
A couple of hours later I left the couch for another beverage and checked on my wife. She seemed a bit petulant, so I inquired what was wrong. “Nothing,” she said. There was something in her voice that I didn’t quite like. “Well, I guess I’ll go back to football,” I offered with just a bit of hesitation. “Go ahead,” she responded. I did, but somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice said something wasn’t right.
I watched another half of several football games and eased back to see what my wife was doing. “Do you care if I watch another game or two?” She looked up. “Go ahead,” she said with seeming indifference. Again I returned to the games, but with a growing uneasiness. As the games wound down I returned to my wife who by this time had managed to crochet most of an afghan.
It was here that I learned my wife speaks some language other than English. In her language fine doesn’t mean fine. Nothing certainly doesn’t mean nothing and go ahead, well you get the message. After some period of penance I began to learn what those words truly meant.
Let’s take the word fine for example. It didn’t mean that things are okay, as I wrongly supposed. I think it meant I was being selfish and insensitive. How was I to know? Then there is the word nothing, defined in my dictionary as something that does not exist. This was not her meaning. In fact, she really meant just the opposite of nothing. I didn’t know. Finally there is the short phrase, go ahead. The very last thing it meant was go ahead and watch more football.
I’m so confused, and by that I mean mixed up, mentally unclear, addled, befuddled. Got to run, it’s time for Monday Night Football.