Lost in Translation
Miguel had family friends visiting from Guatemala this weekend. They were studying English in California and came to DC to spend a few days at his madre’s house. There were three of them, ages 20-24, just like the demographic. They wore tight clothes liked people to look.
“They are my cousins. You are not allowed to look and you are not allowed to touch.”
I was not allowed to look or touch, but I was asked to go out with Miguel to show them a good time. Dancing was out of the question, according to Miguel, because that would require my touching them. You see, Miguel knows the powers of my hip, so he keeps his cousins away from me and the salsa.
Since Miguel would not allow any kind of dancing, we drank like the white man. Miguel was already in a bad, chaperone mood and the Coronas seemed to make it worse. The joking and the giggling of his primas was starting to get on his nerves. Every advance made by men at the bar resulted in Miguel giving them a death stare.
Finally, the ring-leader, Tina, told him off:
“Look, I know we aren’t from here! I know we don’t speak the language very well, but stop acting like you’re our dad. Let us have some fun. Stop being an ass!”
Miguel doesn’t react well to being called any names. He never has. Never. I thought, for only a quick moment, to walk away, but no, not ever have I walked away from seeing Miguel do something when angry.
“Ok. You are right. Have your fun. Do not call me an ass.”
“You are being an ass! Stop it!”
That was it? That was it? Mi amigo is getting old. For the next hour the ladies were ladies and I was even allowed to dance, but I danced poorly. I did not wish to make mi amigo angry with me.
“El Guapo, how do you say “bangs” in English,” Tina asked me while pointing to her bangs, the extra hair hanging on her forehead. I really couldn’t remember how to say it in English.
“Miguel, do you know?”
“I need to cut my cunt? Es correcto?”
“Si. Muy correcto.”
Soon, they were all saying it. The C-Bomb was flying left and right. It was their new favorite word.
“Your cunt looks great.” “My cunt is too long.” “I wish my cunt looked like yours.”
At one point I wanted to tell them, but was quickly given the I will kill you look by Miguel and decided against it.
Never in my life have I had the pleasure of listening to grown women throw the word around with such laughter and joy in their voices. Never have I felt so guilty knowing that they were going to use this word in a classroom setting and make their teacher blush.
Look, don’t call Miguel and ass. It’s just not worth it.