Pardon my French or rather my lack of. While you’re at it please pardon my inability to speak any language that doesn’t include ain’t and y’all. I’m a Hick. There, I’ve said it.
I have at times been mistakenly called a hillbilly but that is not the correct terminology. For the record I am not a hillbilly. The only hills in my neck of the woods are inhabited by moles. I, sir or madam am a Hick. A Hick from the sticks, residing in a rural wooded area shared with other uncouth creatures and Hick type peoples. I do not live in a mobile home but would like to when I get rich.
I am however a worldly Hick. My electronic travels have taken me places I never knew existed, far beyond the bounds of a barbed wire fence. I converse with all sorts of people from different creeds, castes and cultures made possible by use of a translator tool. I am getting quite an education.
I speak Hick and a little bit of French. You see around here we say “pardon my French” in conjunction with cursing. It is a built in irrevocable vindication. Calling it French makes it completely pardonable, e.g. “He is a lousy son of a bitch, pardon my French.”
I think the translator tool is an awesome invention but sometimes what one intends to convey gets a tad bit distorted in the conversion. (Note: English is the closest dialect to Hick currently available)
Here is an example of how the aforementioned statement describing a worthless man can get misconstrued in a non- Hick translation.
From English to French “iI est un fils de pute moche”
From French back to English “He is a son of a ugly bitch”
No, no, no! Calling him a ‘lousy son of a bitch’ was about him. Calling him ‘a son of a ugly bitch’ directs the insult to his mother. (Whom you may happen to like very much)
I suppose calling someone a son of a bitch is technically an insult to their mother regardless, but calling her ugly just seems too rude.
Linguistics. Now that is some interesting sh*t. Pardon my French.
9 thoughts on “Pardon My French”
Pingback: Weekly Photo Challenge (Foreign) « janna hill
I was born a hick but I think I’ve risen above it. I went to college in Cleveland, Tennessee and quickly realized when you’re around hicks 24/7 you tend to pick up the dialect quickly. I think it took eight years back home in Ohio to shake the hick-like dialect. Unfortunately, for one trying to shake a hick-like dialect, it all seems to come back when I get angry and open my mouth. As far as French goes, I try to distance myself from everything French except fries and kisses. 🙂
You can take the boy out of… 🙂 We are what we are Doug. If we were what we eat then you’d be part French 😉
Thanks for the auspicious writeup. It actually used to be a entertainment account it. Look complex to more added agreeable from you! However, how could we keep up a correspondence?
Pingback: The Anole and I | janna hill
Pingback: Discounts and Dabbling | janna hill
Pingback: Writing for the World to Read (Tuesday’s Tell All) | The Real Janna Hill
Pingback: What’s New? (Tuesday’s Tell All) | The Real Janna Hill