beel
ben and i were at the park with the dad's group. one of the dads is scottish. and likes to talk. you don't have to participate much more than eye contact, head bobs, and warm smiles. which is good. cause most of the time we have no idea what he's saying. he and i were regulars. and there wasn't much else to do but try to puzzle out what he said while the tots explored this big new fascinating world. so one day a lady was swinging her tot near us. she turned to bill: what time is it? bill seemed to ignore her. really he just didn't understand. so i piped up with: beel, dja hev da tame? his look showed surprise. but he looked at his watch: iz hef pest. i looked at the woman. she had no idea what he said. so i translated: it's twelve thirty, in case you don't speak scottish. bill looks at me with something akin to awe: hen juice tar spikken soze sigh ken hunters tent dja? me: so my accent was okay then? beel: id one't huff bod! high praise. i think.