“Colfa! I have it!”
I groan inwardly. It is too early in the morning, and I may have had too much to drink the night before. I’m not even sure what it is that he has, but I’m assuming we talked last night about something. There are empty bottles of barleywine lying around, and he looks like he may have slept in the chicken coup.
“What do you have?”
“Your Milonga! It will be in a place that is a little mixed up, but ‘suited twos’ dancing!”
There’s a moment when you have to decide if you may still be drunk, or if your (through no fault of your own) mysterious pseudo-mentor is just not making sense. I try a tactic to bring some sanity back into the conversation.
“Did you sleep in the chicken coup?”
“Si, pero no entiendes? A mixed up school ‘suited twos’ dance!”
Anagrams. We were talking about vesre and anagrams. It wasn’t the correct ‘to’ or the right place to pluralize, but I wasn’t even sure my swarthy companion could write in his own language. Time to rub the fog out of my brain and play along with him, it isn’t the worst idea he’s come to me with. If only this could get the feeling that my teeth have sweaters on them banished as well.
“So, last night … we were… al depo con idiomas…?” I tried. It is harder than you would think, even in your first language.
“You remember! Now get that espresso machine on, quiero feca! With caffeine I can give you more ideas. Like this: a place where a ‘soused twit’ can learn to dance… or perhaps ‘Desiccated Fowl Shoos Unto’?”
“I’ll give you credit for fitting the whole name in, but I think the night in the coup has adversely affected your mind.”
“Well, I think that it is a way better name than Studio West School of Dance. Why do they call it that, when it is so far out East?”
“Geographical Vesre, I thought you’d appreciate that.” I couldn’t help but grin as he groaned outwardly.