Bad realisation today – my Spanish is pretty shit for someone who’s nearly notched up five years living in sunny Spain. Yes, I can comfortably converse about your everyday topics and I know all the right swearwords. (I learned them first I think)
But though I’ve studied the grammar I very rarely use it properly and I constantly get tied in knots mid sentence. Which was the case today in a meeting at work when I had to explain why there are rumours going round that Carla Bruni is pregnant. It was a disaster.
And I have no excuse. I have a Spanish boyfriend for Crissake. I could blame him for only speaking to me in English but it’s my fault too. I’m just damn lazy. It is true that it’s weird speaking to him in Spanish as I didn’t know a single word when we met seven years ago (not even hola!) and we both feel like we’re acting when we converse in his native tongue. But enough is enough.
I’ve now forbidden him from talking to me in English, and hopefully we’ll be able to keep it up. But it’s going to be tough. He comes more from the Gordon Ramsay school of mentoring than the Cheryl Cole one, and I don’t think me laughing at his efforts to correct me really help.
I’ve already found one great advantage though. Arguing about when we should go to the supermarket in Spanish is much better than arguing in English. Somehow it doesn’t seem such a big deal to be hurling insults at each other. Especially when you’re being corrected along the way.
Me: Eres idiota!
Him: No. Eres un idiota!
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
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