I love being married to a man from a different country. Paul’s accent, mannerisms and perceived oddities charm me. At rare times though, I wish he was an American. We have a tendency to miscommunication, and I don’t mean language-wise. His English is fluent and my German is getting there.
Where we fail to communicate is culturally. For example. Last night we were watching TV. It occurred to me that it was Thursday night. A golden night for me, because that means the next day is Friday, which is a half workday for me. “Hurray,” I called out, “the weekend is almost here!”
Paul grumbled in response, “Great for you, I have school all day Saturday.”
My response. “Sucks to your asmar.”
“What did you just say?” Paul asked.
We run into this all the time. Last weekend we were watching the third movie of Bourne Ultimatum. There is a scene where Matt Damon is washing blood off of his hands. I said, “Out, out damn spot!”
“What did you just say?” Paul asked.
Last example. We were at Ikea to pick up a piece of furniture. A number kept blinking and no one was showing up to pick up the piece. A man called out the number numerous times, but the crowd who was present just gave the guy a blank stare. I said, “Bueller.”
“What did you just say?” Paul asked.
I can’t make a reference to anything it seems. Culturally Paul grew up differently. Though he read Shakespeare in school, he only glanced at it the way we only glanced at Goethe. Can you quote Goethe? I sure can’t.
He’s not the only Austrian in this boat. I was talking to some friends and we all agreed that we like The Simpsons. I asked them if they picked up on a certain reference in one of the shows, as it was subtle and quick. They asked me what I meant about a reference. When I said that The Simpsons was a social commentary about American society, they were mildly surprised. They hadn’t been aware of that; they just liked the show because it was funny. Can you imagine missing out on that aspect of The Simpsons? Props to The Simpsons though for still being funny.
Awhile ago a good friend of mine came to visit me from the US. We were at a restaurant and she had to go to the bathroom. She was gone for a long time and upon her reappearance I quipped, “Did you fall down the rabbit hole?”
Without missing a beat she answered, “Almost. I did have to go down some stairs to get there. The line held me up though.”
I was grateful for not having to explain what I had just said.
