When we lived in Ireland we learned a few things about the English language. It is malleable, unreliable and dangerous.Words that could get you in some soap-in-the-mouth-trouble at home were spoken in classrooms all over Ireland. Imagine the time Ma Fille asked my Belle-Mere for a 'rubber'.
And vice versa. Just say anything about your 'bangs' or ask for a 'ride' in Ireland and you'll find out what I mean toute de suite.
Accents, as we know, are pretty funny things too. A simple 'ya'll' or 'you guys' can mark you out. Busted.
We laugh a lot at these little differences and continue to find great pleasure in making what we consider to be very funny jokes amongst ourselves, Chez Larson.
As you know, this hasn't changed in France.
Back to Ireland....come with me.
One day after school we were warming our tushes (emphatically not fannies) against the radiator, trying to take the perma-chill out of our bones by sipping hot chocolate (uh, Guinness). Ma Fille had a story from her school day to share. Something had cracked her up and she knew it would send her word nerd mother into fits of laughter too.
She'd had a substitute teacher and the gentle woman had a rather strong Irish accent. When she called out the answers to their 'matts test', read as 'math test' to you and me, one of them would have made my Belle-Mere's palm itch for the bar of soap.
'Farty-Far!', she sang. 'Twenty-two plus twenty-two is FARTY-FAR, so it is!'
And so it has always been in our silly, easily amused little family.
The day has finally come when I can announce to the world and to my lovable P-Daddy:
'Happy Birthday! You're FARTY-FAR!'
If you think I've been saving that one up for awhile, you'd be right.
If you'd like you can read one of my favorite P-Daddy posts in honor of his farty-farth birthday.