I’m Hardly One to Talk

I’ve been happy to field requests lately from folks who let me know that English isn’t their first language. Several recent additions to my wrestling fiction groups have let me know that their primary language isn’t English. The more, the merrier, as far as I’m concerned. In fact, some of the sexiest people I know aren’t native English speakers.

Okay, let me be frank: a thick accent and the occasional grammatical error are actually quite a turn-on, all on their own. More than once I’ve fallen for some consonant confusion (I’m particularly a sucker for someone with a “y” that sounds like a “j”) offering to take me to the home. I’m dead-on serious here. I’m not making fun, not one little bit. Throw in a twisted idiom, and I’m putty in your hands.

And don’t bother apologizing for your lack of confidence with the irrational minefield that is English grammar paired with American idiom. We who call this language home should be the ones apologizing to all of you who have to pick it up after the age of 5. And I’ve personally butchered several languages quite offensively. I remember distinctly being asked by the waitress in Hamburg if my lunch “geschmekt,” which I mistakenly thought was her asking if I wanted dessert. When I confidently answered, “Nein,” her puzzled look was my first clue to my cluelessness (to the contrary, the food did, indeed, taste delicious). So, please, don’t apologize for your English. I’m the last person to be critical of you for operating in a language that isn’t your first.

And just to disclose fully, I constantly toy with the idea of emigrating, so I’d hope that wherever I might eventually land would be gentle and generous with me as I made myself at home in someone else’s language. We’ve got prominent candidates for powerful, national office here who want to outlaw all religions other than their own, who think the gays should have to register as a public menace, and who believe that creationism has more scientific proof than evolution. If morons like these ever run this country… again… I’m planning on throwing myself at the mercy of a relatively progressive, sane nation that will have me. With the news coming from the German Chancellor this week, I don’t think I’ll need dust off my deutsch textbooks. I’m still hopeful that I could manage svenska well enough, with time, though… possibly français.

So, no, please don’t apologize to me for not being a native English speaker. I just hope that you get enough out of my own particular way of writing to make this blog and my fiction enjoyable. And if you have your own wrestling fiction short story to share auf deutsch, en français, eller i svenska, I’d be incredibly honored if you’d send it along for me to post over at Sidelineland and practice up on my own, deeply flawed language skills.