Let me begin by saying my wife can burp. Hard. She can burp so loud it makes me want to throw up a little. I think she’s been practicing her burps since she was a little girl in Germany. (I like to picture her running through an apple orchard, one tiny fist wrapped around a stump of liverwurst, mouth open wide and belting out a burp so loud the earth is shaking… apples falling from the trees… little German rabbits huddled together, seeking comfort as they fear for their very lives…)
So, back in early November of 2012, while we were still living in Portland, Oregon, The Wife and I went to my parent’s house for dinner. It was a pleasant evening, rife with laughter, good food and embarrassing childhood photos in which my American weenie was proudly displayed for the amusement of all. After dinner, The Wife and I drove home on I-5 and talked about how our car had been sideswiped just a few weeks prior (a memory which never fails to piss her off, even to this very day). She was tired, and spoke with this kind of drowsy German accent, which made it abundantly clear she was at least half drunk:
THE WIFE: “If we get sideswiped right now… *BURRRRRP* …I’m pissed.”
Click here to learn more about the term “Denglish.”
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