Yikes! I guess the last post was a bit ambiguous, and I’ve had a couple people assume the worst, so here’s a clarification!
I’ve gotten used to referring to the Mexicans in my kitchen as “my Mexicans.” It really is a term of affection. They are the sweetest, and silliest, kids you will ever meet.
We have our after-work banter, and we get to talking about foreign languages. I don’t speak Chinese because I grew up in the States. I speak English with my parents. This has always been regarded as a “shame.” I defended myself by saying that I knew French and a bit of Spanish.
Except the only Spanish I know is dirty slang. (Thaaanks, E.)
So when my Mexican asked me to say something in Spanish, the first thing I blurted out was, “Yo me vengo en tu culito.” I come in your butt.
Just a story about kitchen dynamics.
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