Translator

Officially I have only one really thin thing, my nails, both finger and toes. I have known this for a long time, but today the Vietnamese woman who was giving me a fairly poor manicure announced in her best English, “You have bad, thin nails.”

Just to throw her off I instantly responded, “No shit, Sherlock.” In a voice only she could hear. She had no idea what I said, like I usually have no idea what she is saying.

Sitting in the chair next to me was a little girl, probably about 8 or nine years old getting her first manicure. I’m not sure the experience was one that is going to create a woman addicted to a life long nail obsession.

While we were getting our nails done all the nail artists, that’s what Carter’s crappy volleyball coach liked to me called, carried on a loud conversation in Vietnamese with little care about the rest of us in the room.   Since it is apparent to me that most of them are related to each other I see their conversation as an ongoing family fight and not one that really involves me, but the poor little girl next to me did not see it that way.

When her manicurist, oh excuse me, nail artist, looked at the little girls hands and then said something loud to her mother and they all laughed at the same time, the little girl, whose Vietnamese language skills were lacking, got a little tear in her eye. I noticed her uncomfortableness and asked her if she was OK? “Are they laughing at me?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” I reassured her. “They are laughing about Judge Judy,” who was playing on the TV, like we needed more noisy in the room. “The one doing your nails just told her mother that if she is not nicer to her she is going to take her to Judge Judy. The mother said fine, I will win and get all your money, then the daughter said, yes, but Judge Judy will yell at you for being foolish.”

The little girl’s once teary eyes got very big and she asked me, “How do you know that?”

“I understand what they are saying, but I can’t speak it.”

That was good enough for the little girl and she settled back in her chair while the nail artist absent mindedly painted pale pink on her nails. A few minutes later her mother came up from the pedicure chair area and asked her how she liked getting her first manicure. “It was scary, but then this old lady translated for me and then I was fine.”

At least she did not describe me as the fat lady.