Tongue-Tied

So, I am a little embarrassed to admit that, after a year and a half in Denmark, Don and I are not fluent in Danish yet. We are, in fact, far from it. However, we are in a twice-per-week language course, taught by a woman whom we rarely understand. But, we dutifully attend our classes, nod enthusiastically and hope for the best.

This morning, on returning from walking Bella, I ran into our very sweet neighbor, who looked anxious and told me she was off to see the dentist. I told her not to worry, that it would be fine, and then, in my heartiest Danish, I wished her "God Jul!" I was so sure I said "Good luck," but instead blurted out "Merry Christmas!" Yeah. Still working on it.

And sometimes the best communications happen in my own native tongue. I had my hair cut today by Kenneth, a German guy who is wicked good at what he does. He lives in Germany but works in Denmark, because the cost of living is so low there, but the pay here is at least double, if not triple. Anyhow, ol' Kenneth worked my coiffure ferociously for a very long time, styling, styling, styling, curling and swirling as if our lives depended on it. I watched as my hair got bigger and curlier and tendril-ier by the minute; it really looked like Venus in her clamshell should be rising at any moment from the bouncy, foamy swirls. My. Hair. Was. Huge. Really gravity-defying and lovely. All I needed was a satin sash, a rhinestone tiara and some tears.

After 20 minutes of this, he was finished. I have never seen my hair like this before, and I knew my head would never look quite this spectacular again. I looked in the mirror and said, "Wow! Kenneth! This is so... TEXAS!"

You know what he did? His face lit up, he smiled wide, put his hand on his chest, bowed a little, and said, "Oh, THANK YOU!" Now that's taking pride in your work.