What to say

Do you ever have the feeling that subtly, while you were looking somewhere else, your brain decided that you didn't need it for a while and it just slipped out?

That's how I feel when I am thrust into the limelight and asked to speak Spanish.

In the harsh glare of the center stage spot beaming directly through my head revealing my lack of brains, I cannot conjugate even a simple verb. I know I know something in Spanish, but for the life of me, I can't remember it.

Naturally, this creates confusion on the part of the person who erroneously thought that my being able to read Spanish translates into the skill of a dictionary and wordsmith when it comes to the spoken language.

Not happening, people.

Test anxiety is something I have dealt with a majority of my life. This is a different issue in only one respect. Instead of paper and pencil, this has become a painful exercise in oral examination.

I read every day.

But lacking someone who is willing to be patient enough for me to learn conversational skills that wouldn't make a toddler fall over laughing is something entirely different.

Adults DO NOT want to wait for you to learn. They want an answer and they want it now. That is a universal truth in every language on the planet including Pig-Latin (which, by the way, I AM fluent in!).

Years ago there was a show where a made up language called Ubi Dubbi was spoken. I loved the fact that for once, kids could have a language that would confuse otherwise erudite and well spoken adults.

Alas, Ubi Dubbi is also a dying language once you pass the tender age of about 13. No one cares if you can say something in it because no one can understand you.

I confessed my particular weakness to visiting missionaries the other night over Mexican lasagna. How do you get to where you are able to just 'shoot the breeze' with the nonchalant confidence of the native born speaker?

The answer is the same as the proverbial question 'How do you get to Carnegie Hall?'

PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE.

Oddly enough, I have had dreams where I am vacationing in some Spanish speaking country and I am not tongue tied. People marvel at my skill and are thankful to have me along to keep them from getting lost or ordering llama's butt for dinner. I am sophisticated in my skills and the words flow from my mouth eloquently.

Sadly, my dream ends the moment I open my eyes and realize that whatever gibberish I was uttering in my sleep was more than likely an invitation for someone to come and polish my girdle or paint my sausages.

Oh well. At least no one heard me. Excepting my husband who doesn't understand a word of Spanish beyond menu items at a restaurant.

Ole'. Enchilada. Sopapilla. Leche. Whatever.