Dim Sum Diaries
I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. All I want to do is burrow under the covers and lie abed all day. Of course, with two rambunctious children its pretty much impossible.

So yesterday I managed to catch a snooze when the children were napping. The telephone rings and I sleepily pick it up.

"Lo," I muttered.

"Hello!" my Dad said jovially. "Do you want to go to your sister's house and meet us for dinner?" The static-y crackle of his cell phone was very pronounced, making it necessary to talk loudly. I tried to wake up my sleep-fogged brain to process this latest piece of information.

"Sure," I replied.

"Mom has some stuff she needs to give you."

"Okay, tell Mom to bring down the pants she hemmed for me, okay?" I asked.


"The PANTS!" I repeated.


"The PANTS!!!" I repeated even more loudly. Maybe if I switched to Cantonese, then he would understand I was saying. I paused for a moment, trying to remember the word for pants. "THE DUI-FOO!!!!" I said, then cursed when I realized I'd said underwear instead of pants.



"Oh," my Dad finally said. "I thought you said tent. Okay, I'll tell her."

I sighed. Even though its completely obvious that were I fully awake, my fluency in Cantonese would rival the language skills of a U.N. language translator (yeah right), this is what happens when you don't speak Chinese for extended periods of time.