Chinese Lesson #1: I’m Not a Prodigy

So I’ve recently decided that it’s in my best interest to learn Chinese, not only because I think it’s important to learn my husband’s other language, but also because I want my children (should I ever decide I’d like to start popping some out) to grow up speaking both Chinese (Cantonese, specifically) and English.

Oh, and I also want to learn Chinese so I can eavesdrop more effectively on my mother-in-law.

Anyway.

Even though I’ve heard spiceboy speaking Chinese for more than 5 years now, I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve learned only minimal Chinese words and phrases, all of which I’ve become quite good at speaking over the years, and all of which were imparted to me by various members of the Spice Family and/or employees of Spice World, and all of which are dirty and not suitable for civilized Chinese conversation:

fart = fung pee

boobs = nai nai

are you horny = ni how ma (this also means “how are you” but it depends on the pronunciation)

fucking crazy = chi gau si

Note: I’ve totally mangled the spelling of the pronunciations here—they are in no way correct, and I apologize profusely for this. But you get the point.

So last night, after a glass (or four) of wine, I decided it was the perfect time for spiceboy to teach me some useful Chinese. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn a new language on the day of our nation's birth after having consumed a huge order of baby back ribs, drinking (at least) four glasses of vino, and watching several back to back episodes of Most Outrageous TV Moments, right?

Right.

So spiceboy started with numbers, which seemed easy enough. He slowly and painfully taught me to count to ten in Cantonese, correcting and encouraging me every time I mangled the rather triangular-sounding Chinese pronunciation with my oh-so-round American pronunciation. spiceboy is a good and patient teacher, and I caught onto one through ten pretty quickly. So next, he taught me to count to one hundred. I even made him write down the pronunciations so I could look at them and say them out loud.

Which I did. For over an hour.

You see, when I latch on to something, I don’t want to let it go. Which is why I read the same book a bazillion times and rent the same movie over and over and put my favorite song on repeat.

And so it went with my Chinese numbers. I practiced writing and saying the words for such a long time (pausing frequently to glug more wine) that after awhile, the words ceased sounding like words and became instead a bevy of foreign noises chasing themselves around in my mouth and in my head. I said them aloud as I put dishes in the sink. I said them aloud under my breath as we watched tv. I even said them aloud while I was peeing. And in an attempt to trip myself up, I said them faster and faster and faster, just to see if I could do it.

Soon, I was spitting out one two three four five six seven eight nine ten...and so on and so forth up to one hundred in rapid-fire Cantonese. It was a magical experience--as though my lips were moving independently of the rest of my body. And as I reached yet again for my wine glass, I felt a glimmer of hope that I was more than just a red-headed white girl speaking Chinese—perhaps I was a total Chinese language prodigy!

I turned to spiceboy, sure that he was gazing at me with much adoration and amazement, and that he would sleep well knowing that his new bride is not only dedicated to embracing his heritage, but also that she has beautiful red hair that looks completely natural in color even though it’s from a box, AND that she is an incredibly smart, talented person with an amazing gift for the Chinese language.

But that’s not how it happened. spiceboy was gazing at me, all right. But he seemed more befuddled than amazed. In fact, he was looking at me like I was crazy.

Chi gau si, if you will.

That’s when I started to wonder: Was I really a Cantonese-speaking prodigy? Or was I merely an expert at drinking wine and speaking gibberish?

spiceboy looked at me for a long moment, patted me on the shoulder, and said, “Okay there, Nell, I think that’s about enough for one night.”

Damn! Wine and gibberish.

Tonight, I think I’ll go back to basics:

fung pee
nai nai
ni how ma

Happy Wednesday.