Destiny’s Child

Destiny’s Child

“Oh, hell yeah, sign up for Italian Conversation class. You’ll get so much better at speaking Italian. It’ll be a breeze, you’ll love it,” rationalized Kayla of yore, brimming with an unparalleled optimistic naiveté. So young, so blissfully unaware.

 

If I only knew…

 

Tuesday. My iPhone alarm croons what is generally an amiable Jack Johnson melody. Not today. Today, it’s 7:30 am. I am already awake, tossed and turned by the sinking feeling deep within my chest. Jack’s sweet seaside sounds evoke only a gut-wrenching dread. It’s……..Presentation Day.

 

(Rumbling thunder, a flash of lightning, dissonant dramatic music, what have you)

 

Presentation Day…. The fate of my final grade for Italian Conversation lies in the oral presentation scheduled for Tuesday evening. It would be at least ten minutes of recounting my Italian experience, to be presented exclusively in Italian, with the guarantee of mid-presentation questioning from my professor for extra details. There would be no escape. This would be the end.

 

I prepared my final meal before class and anticipated the bitter end. A chocolate chip cookie marked the last snack I would consume on this sweet, sweet earth. In a few short hours I would be a goner, reduced to a babbling, blubbering, shell of the person I once was, demoralized and rendered completely unable to speak after the presentation.

 

It was time.

 

I limped into class, my left foot completely numb. I would have been upset about the fact that one of my limbs decided to check out in a time like this but all I could feel was envy. Good on you, foot, I too wish I could go numb and pretend that none of this was happening. Good for you (you sick, abandoning bastard).

 

I took a seat in the usual room, in my usual chair. But nothing was “usual” about today. The air was hot with nerves… or maybe it was just the enthusiastic space heater, fired up by the promise of December. Either way, I started to sweat.

 

My professor asked, in Italian, who was anxious. I, feeling no need to hide the fact that the imminent events made me want to hurl, threw my hand in the air with a velocity rivaled only by Hermione Granger in The Sorcerer’s Stone. My professor smiled. She waved me forward.

 

Confusion.

 

Then, slowly, like water clearing from long-clogged ears, everything was clear. I realized my error. She had not asked who was anxious, no. She had asked who wanted to go first. And boy did I look enthused.

 

I panicked. “No, I misunderstood,” I pleaded… “please, no… I’m not…” she ushered me toward the front of the room. The presentation chair might as well have been electric. I would have kicked myself for letting my nerves impede my listening ability but my foot was still solidly asleep.

 

The rest is a blur. I spoke. I sweat. I threw my hands around in a desperate attempt to improve my communication. It was a day Destiny’s Child would be proud of.

 

I’m A Survivor.

 

In other news, these photos are from my most recent excursion to the always lovely London. (I’ve only been once, but I am going to make the bold assumption that it is always lovely. What a nice place.) I didn’t anticipate feeling so strange being surrounded by the English language. I laughed at eavesdropped puns simply because I could understand them. The exchange rate was painful and I’m fairly certain it’s because the British are still mad about the whole Boston Tea Party thing. After trying their tea… I can hardly say I blame them.

 

 



2 thoughts on “Destiny’s Child”

  • That was crazy funny! Isn’t it ironic how failure in one part of life produces success in another……

    Photos are fantastic, as usual. However, I appear to have gotten one photo of the Beatles White album.

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