What happens when a Puerto Rican Jew from the American south marries into a family who have a century of British history, the perfect cup of tea, lots of silverware, and impeccably ironed everything? Hilarity!
It all started when we were dating. My only exposure to the British culture came from my father's love of BBC America sitcoms and a few close friends in seminary. My husband knew enough from his family vacations and time at an American summer camp to decide he didn't want to date American girls. Somehow the matchmaker convinced him to give me a shot. On our second date I casually mentioned the word pants only to sputter, blush and gasp "You know I meant trousers!" Pants in the UK are underwear, not my usual conversation topic with a stranger, a stranger I was hoping to impress! Of course knowing to use the word trousers wasn't enough.
"So I need to go to Geula to buy some pantyhose, we could meet after that" I said innocently.
Silence as my date prayed the earth would open and swallow him as he blushed, horrified at my breach of panty etiquette.
I didn't even know of this faux pas until we were engaged. So what if I wanted to buy socks? Not a big deal, right? Oh so wrong!
Later that same date after some playful teasing on my part, future-hubsters had his own cross-cultural foot & mouth disease moment.
"Oh you're such a so-and-so!" He exclaimed.
"Did he just curse at me?" I thought, shocked. My heart stopped and all my conservative, southern indignation & ladylike sense of propriety flared into an inferno of oh-no-he-didn't anger, "So-and-so is a placeholder for a not nice word, right? It must means something different in England. No way would he call me a name, right?" He is very lucky my judging favorably flip switched at the last minute. Ok, I'm also pretty lucky that worked out!
Luckily our mutual love for Elvis, cheesecake, growth, Torah, sarcasm, and eventually each other lead us to be united in marriage, albeit divided by culture and a common language.
(to be continued)
What happens when a Puerto Rican Jew from the American south marries into a family who have a century of British history, the perfect cup of tea, lots of silverware, and impeccably ironed everything? Hilarity!
It all started when we were dating. My only exposure to the British culture came from my father's love of BBC America sitcoms and a few close friends in seminary. My husband knew enough from his family vacations and time at an American summer camp to decide he didn't want to date American girls. Somehow the matchmaker convinced him to give me a shot. On our second date I casually mentioned the word pants only to sputter, blush and gasp "You know I meant trousers!" Pants in the UK are underwear, not my usual conversation topic with a stranger, a stranger I was hoping to impress! Of course knowing to use the word trousers wasn't enough.
"So I need to go to Geula to buy some pantyhose, we could meet after that" I said innocently.
Silence as my date prayed the earth would open and swallow him as he blushed, horrified at my breach of panty etiquette.
I didn't even know of this faux pas until we were engaged. So what if I wanted to buy socks? Not a big deal, right? Oh so wrong!
Later that same date after some playful teasing on my part, future-hubsters had his own cross-cultural foot & mouth disease moment.
"Oh you're such a so-and-so!" He exclaimed.
"Did he just curse at me?" I thought, shocked. My heart stopped and all my conservative, southern indignation & ladylike sense of propriety flared into an inferno of oh-no-he-didn't anger, "So-and-so is a placeholder for a not nice word, right? It must means something different in England. No way would he call me a name, right?" He is very lucky my judging favorably flip switched at the last minute. Ok, I'm also pretty lucky that worked out!
Luckily our mutual love for Elvis, cheesecake, growth, Torah, sarcasm, and eventually each other lead us to be united in marriage, albeit divided by culture and a common language.
(to be continued)
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