I imagine that the entire neighbourhood is now familiar with our nightly heated debate, in the garden. In the heat of the garden we script our way through a well worn conversational path, without malice, well rehearsed. At some stage during dinner our Italian Nonna begins to point at the fence as English words fight for supremacy.
“Look at dat!” Her surprised delight for any wildlife is always genuine, always new.
“It’s a squirrel?”
“Yes, it’s a squirrel,” I confirm, at 50 decibels in my controlled yell voice.
“It’s a squirrel is it?”
“Mangy little ting isn’t it?”
“Not like English squirrels.”
“English squirrels are fat and round with big fluffy tails.”
“Do you not feed dem enough?”
“No, we don’t feed the squirrels.”
“Hmm we don’t feed dah squirrels in England either.”
“But dere still fat and fluffy and you know……gorgeous. Not like deez skinny little American squirrels.”
I listen to the American crickets, American birds and baited breath of all my American neighbours. I suspect that everyone is word perfect within a five mile radius of our house.
We await deportation papers shortly, assuming we’re not lynched first.
4 hours ago