I want to tell you guys a short story about how English as a second language (for my mother) was at times funny and at times not so funny. If anyone has any stories tell them please.
My father tells me that when I was almost a year old (we were living in california- Foster City) And it was around 100 degrees when the airconditioning went out. We were in an apartment at that time as we had just moved from Reno and My mom was not sure about where to settle close to my father's job. So, my father was really agitated trying to work on this a/c window unit and I was screaming my head off.
My dad was one to knock a few back after work and we had a stocked liquor cabinet for most of my memory as a young girl. He finally realized he had grabbed the wrong tool box as he was digging around looking for his magic screwdriver to fix the darn thing. He said he shouted at the top of his lungs for my mom to get him the screwdriver. She plunked me in my playpen and ran to the liqour cabinet and made him a screwdriver as fast as lightning and returned with it in her shaking hands almost spilling it all over. He shook his head in total disbelief, chugged it back, gave her the glass and told her to get the kind of screwdriver that will help him fix the a/c.
She was so dissapointed she misunderstood him.