So having recently dumped firefighter boyfriend over the texting incident, I’ve been making time with a new, so far delightful, young man. The amusing thing is that although he grew up in Soviet-era Latvia, he has lived in New York City long enough that his English is flawless; in fact, if either of us sounds foreign, its me, the Southern transplant. I’m just waiting for the day that someone runs up to me and screams “Terk ur jerbs! Go back to where you came from!” and I reply, “Uh, Mississippi?” But I digress.
This is the exact conversation I had with my mother today when I called to tell her about my new sweetie.
Mississippi Mama: What’s his name?
Mississippienne: [His name]
Mississippi Mama: What the hell kinda name is that?
Mississippienne: It’s Latvian.
Mississippi Mama: … he’s a lesbian?
Mississippienne: :rolleyes: Yeah, Mama, he’s a lesbian. Nah, he’s Latvian!
Mississippi Mama: … Lebanese?
Mississippienne: LATVIAN.
Mississippi Mama: Oh!.. What the hell is a Latvian?
Mississippienne: Y’know, Latvia. Parta the former Soviet Union.
So now my mother thinks he’s Russian. I decided that’s close enough so I stopped torturing her with information about a small Baltic nation she’s never heard of before.