No Parley Polish…Sorrry

 

One of my favorites images is that of my daughter, Cassie, trying and failing to stifle a giggle. Over the course of her nearly 30 years, I have gone to great lengths to make her laugh, to see her fight back the funny. I must say, I have had great success. Of this, I am proud.

Still, there have been times making her laugh is completely unintentional.

Less than two weeks ago: Our little group had just walked across a bridge connecting Germany to Poland and were now on the Poland side. It was a little gritty, which I tend to like. The air was cold, thick and gray and I had a hunger for both adventure and authentic polish sausage. When in Rome. (Well, Poland.)

Having polished off the kielbasa, we were strolling down the street lined with open gray-air markets, when a merchant said something to me in a language I did not understand. Struggling to respond, as I passed by, I weakly offered:

“No parley Polish…” And then with a completely unintentional, unconscious rolled R, “Sorrrry.”

As it Rrrrolled off my tongue, I hoped no one else in our group heard. I looked back at Cassie, who apparently had. She was smiling a gotcha smile and asked, “Did you just say, ‘No parley Polish…sorrrry?”

Busted, I could not help but laugh at myself. Which, I find, is one of the most surprisingly freeing things I do.

It makes no sense to fight it, and the ensuing release is kind of delicious.

Since that day, the line, “No Parley Polish….Sorrrry” bubbles up in our conversations… and I savor the flavor of failing to fight back the funny. #SorryNotSorrrry