Oh, Dios Mio!
The Fury. The Storm. The Spaniards. They are here. My roommate has 4 relatives visiting from Barcelona, and kids, it's a trip. I've met her parents before, but not her aunt and her cousin. Good people, all in all, but there's a language barrier. I know a fair amount of Spanish (well, enough to not feel retarded, anyway), and in total they know a bit of English but it's just phrases and stuff. Sooooo, yeah... [and yeah, I split that damn infinitive, so bring it, grammar police]
Day 1: The arrival. I know they are planning on getting in very late, but I'm up until 1 or so anyway. I finally decide to go to bed, knowing full well that just as I do so, they'll walk in. Hello, and, goodnight.
Day 2: Let's go shopping. Picture it, Sicily, 1937... wait... no... enough. They have generously offered to buy us patio furniture and a grill. Sweet! So we go to Lowes, where I had already picked out what I wanted. Loaded it up, paid for it... couldn't fit it in the car. Bollocks! Really, it's tough to fit a table and 4 chairs in a small sedan. I was tempted, and tried to tie everything to the roof of my car with twine, but at the last moment decided that it could only end badly for me, so we left the stuff at Lowes. I'd return the following day to get it. It looks pretty decent.
Day 3: "How do you say 'Texas Hold'em' in Spanish?" I still don't know. But it was fun to try and explain it with gestures and grunts and made-up words. The flop = El Flop. The Turn = La Vuelta. The River = El Rio. We didn't actually play with money, and technically I won, but it was because it was so damn late and we all just wanted to finally get to sleep. But not before I tried taking all the play money.
Day 4: My contribution to Spanish Culture. I got home from work, and went for a jog, and then decided it would be a good idea to assemble the grill. Thankfully, "the storm" was out sightseeing and I had a little bit of time to read the instructions (that were only in English), and get started. I had it halfway put together when everyone walked in and began 'helping'. I have a hard enough time at work when everyone is supposed to be able to speak English, but this was just insane. No one teaches you any of the vocabulary words necessary to put together anything while you're in high school. I learned shirt, cat, table, and to run. I did not learn, wrench, screw, nut, bolt, warming rack, or 'ouch that fucking hurt!'. Luckily, the word "Fuck" transcends all cultures. It's like math.
Eventually, we manage to finish assembling the grill in the dining room. And then? And then, it wont fit out the back door! So we have to partially disassemble it and reassemble the damn thing outside. Can we eat yet? Kinda. Fire it up. I purchased the fancy charcoal that isn't briquettes, but is charred wood and it got really hot really fast. And then it died. So I had half cooked chicken and sausages. Sucks. Thank god for microwaves. I re-fired the grill, and got it supa-dupa hot, and then we were in real business. I guess even grills have learning curves. Want to see the grill in action?
Anyhoo, so we're joking around and eating and having beer and wine and meat-on-a-stick, like you do. I keep hearing a lot of "el numero uno, or el numero dos" comments about where people went and finally my curiousness takes over.
"What's all this numbero dos shit they keep talking about?"
"Oh, well, remember when you told me about when you go to the bathroom and what is a Number 1 and a Number 2? I told them that, and they like it, so they think my father went to have a number 2 and that's why it's taking him so long."
"No, they like it!"
I laughed so hard I almost fell off the deck.