What'd You Call Me?

This weekend, when Nico’s kids were here, we all sat on the carpet to play a game of pick-up-sticks. This game rarely goes well with the girls, because one of them invariably loses control of her body, rolling around on the floor or spasing out in some other way, hits one of the sticks and loses her turn. This causes much trauma. Sometimes it causes trauma because Nico, exasperated, says something like, ‘Ach, KarLOTTA!’ Other times, just losing a turn causes instantaneous weeping. Then I have to remind everyone that it is, after all, just a game.

At some point during this weekend’s game, I somehow made some kind of snorting noise. I don’t know how it happened or if I did it on purpose, but it happened. Then five-year-old Karlotta said, in her ridiculously cute way, ‘Du bist ein schwein’ and then started giggling. I apparently have learned sufficient German to understand this insult, so I started giggling, too. The only one not giggling was Nico, because he hadn’t heard my snort. All he heard was his little daughter calling his new girlfriend a pig. He was horrified, of course, and said, incredulously, ‘Excuse me???’ I quickly intervened and explained and then we all giggled until we cried.

But I must continue the thread to emphasize just how much schwein I am eating these days. Man, the Germans love pork. Ham, bacon, smoked ham, cured meat, and of course, wurst. Deepest apologies to all my veggie friends, but I LOVE pork. Only thing better than pork meat? Pork fat.

This reminds me of a football cheer that a family friend told us used to be cheered at my high school. It went something like this:

"Pork chops! Pork chops! Greasy, greasy!

We’re gonna beat you easy, easy!"

Course, you’ve got to make ‘greasy’ rhyme with ‘easy.’ Sounds pretty gross, huh?

I don’t care. I still love pork.