WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?

I have a big mouth and it has gotten me in a lot of trouble over the years, as anyone who knows me can imagine. One of the good things about being south of the border is that my Spanish is not good enough to just blurt out the first wisecrack that comes to mind. I have to stop and think for a moment, and usually I reconsider and don’t say it. Still, I have managed to tickle my teeth with my toes a few times in Spanish, as my not-always-amused wife can attest. Some gaffes were benign, like when, early in our courtship phase I told her that her crows were driving me crazy, thinking cuervos meant “curves.” Or when I thought I said I liked to eat at Los Pelicanos, and she thought I liked to eat pelicans. Sometimes, an attempted compliment can backfire, like the time I tried to praise her beauty by saying she didn’t need makeup, maybe just a little mascara (her eyebrows are a bit pale). Well, come to find out, mascara means “mask.” Also, I learned the hard way that “fox” or zorra is as insulting as “female dog”, and vieja, the feminine form of “old,” is a vulgar, chauvinistic term that Mexican women ardently resent, so trying to say that her mother was pretty foxy for an old lady did not come out right or endear me to anyone. A serious misunderstanding developed one day when, before we were even an item, I jokingly said to her, in the company of friends and family, “You promised not to scold me any more.” Or this is what I thought I said. Unfortunately, I had confused the words regañar (to scold, chide or berate) with engañar (to cheat on or deceive). Sensitive soul that she is, she stomped out of the room, went home and wouldn’t accept my phone calls for weeks. I had no idea what my sin was until months later a witness to the scene asked me why I had said such a rude thing, and by then it

was too late for my apology to mean much. Then there was the time we were attending a two week nightly course in matrimony, held at the humble little neighborhood church. The lady giving the lectures kept stressing to all the prospective brides that marriage is a big disappointment, men are selfish and immature, her husband always got drunk on his day off and her mother-in-law was bossy beyond limits, but with the grace of God and for the good of the children a woman must endure, etc. We were the only couple who did not receive a certificate at the end of the course, and I believe an innocent slip on my part may have been one of the reasons. The classes were known in Español as Platicas de Matrimonio, platicas meaning “talks,” more or less. My eardrums are rock’n’rolled out, and I have trouble distinguishing one consonant from another, and I thought everyone was saying practicas, or “practices.” So when my turn came to make a little speech about how much I had learned from the course, I went on about how we had been practicing at matrimony every night for two weeks, and what a wonderful experience it was, and so on. Back in the doghouse again. I take some comfort in knowing that I am not the only gringo to make a fool of himself trying to express himself in a foreign language. My friend S told me that when he first came to Mazatlán he went around telling everyone (he thought) that he was 47 years old, or as they say here “I have forty seven years,” but was actually saying something so disgusting that nobody would correct him, and even I will not explain further. Fortunately, part of the Mexican cultural heritage is a great national sense of humor, and Mexicans are more amused than offended by clumsy foreigners stumbling all over their tongues. Right, Honey? eg@pacificpearl.com