Lost in Translation
I’m sitting in a waiting room, waiting for a business meeting. After a few minutes, the lady who I’m meeting appears at the door with a beaming smile.
“Hi. I’m sorry, but I won’t be giving you any pussy today. I’m a bit sick”. she says.
I’m now worried that I’ve misread the agenda. I mean I’m all for being friendly, but that’s the kind of greeting that you rarely get, even in Essex. I’m also not sure that my wife would approve. She’s funny like that.
The meeting runs its course, and true to her word, I am given no pussy. Not even a little bit!
An hour or so later and I’m on the phone to my wife, recounting the tale of the friendly greeting.
“She mean’t ‘puszi'! It’s Hungarian for kiss!” she explains.
“So it’s not a Hungarian custom?” I ask.
“This isn’t Ancient Rome!”
"And you're absolutely positive it isn't to do with the fact that I'm having a really good hair day today?"
"She meant 'kiss'!"
I’m relieved as I have a few other business meetings scheduled for the next few days, one with a fairly elderly gentleman who smells of tinned spam.
“That’s a very funny misunderstanding” I say. “It’s definitely going in my blog.”
“Don’t put it in your blog!” my wife says. “If she reads it she will be mortified.”
Later that evening my wife has a look on her face that suggests that something is wrong.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” she replies.
Shit. This mean’s something is definitely wrong.
I prod and poke her until she eventually caves.
“You know your blog?” she says.
“I’m aware of said blog” I reply.
“How come you only ever refer to me as ‘wife’?” my wife says. “Everyone else has a name. Mila has a name. You have a name. I’m just ‘wife’.”
“I don’t know.” I say. “I think I just called you wife in the first one and then continued to run with it. Would you like me to name and shame you?”
“I want a name.” my wife says adamantly.
It’s later that evening and Mila is having one of those nights. We can’t stop her crying for love nor money. My wife’s well appears to be running dry and not even the trusty old dancing to AC/DC trick appears to be working.
We try the dummy, but she keeps spitting it out. As a side note, why don’t they make dummies with elastic face bands? If they're good enough for party hats. By the way, you can have that one for free. I’ll keep an eye out for you next year on Dragon’s Den.
After several hours of nursing, comforting and "shushing", my wife eventually gets Mila off to sleep. I sneak in to the bedroom where they’re both lying. A lullaby is playing. It's a lullaby that we've heard thousands of times over the last few months, and it’s starting to make me want to eat my own feet, just to take my mind of it.
"Shall I change the music?" I ask with pleading eyes.
"As long as it's gentle and quiet.” my wife replies, barely audible.
I scroll through my iTunes. I find The Carnival of the Animals, a magical piece of classical music that you'd recognise from countless films. I turn the volume down to near silent and press play.
But my iPhone has other ideas. It quite fancies listening to The Beastie Boys at full volume. My iPhone is a despicable dick.
"LISTEN ALL OF Y'ALL IT'S SABOTAGE!"
Mila is awake.
Zsuzsa is livid.
There will be no puszi for me tonight.
Photos courtesy of @zsolt.barabas.