Last evening, two very young Hispanic men by the pool were loudly explaining to an American friend how they could get legalized in this country.
A stocky middle-aged military guy appeared by the pool. He was wearing one of those T-shirts that list the names of fallen comrades on the back. When he heard the young fellows loudly elaborating on a plan to “marry an American girl for a green card and then dump her ass once the three years run out,” his eyes got very big and round like saucers and he started to fume.
“Why gentleman making funny noises, mommy?” asked Klara who heard his grunts.
As bad luck may have it, the American friend had the brilliant idea to ask the illegal comrades about being drafted. And they started rubbishing the army. The military gentleman looked like he was literally ready to blow his lid. At this point, I was really missing the quiet Brits with their books on the royals and their bizarrely silent and shadowy teenagers.
I was afraid that if I continued answering in a noticeable accent Klara’s questions about “why gentleman so funny, mommy?”, the military guy would decide we were collectively mocking him, so we left the pool.