A trip to the local supermarket just made me smile...
I've been to the supermarket three times today (why don't Danes sell milk in decent-sized cartons?!) So this time, as Thomas was along too, I said I'd wait in the car. Sitting with all the windows open as the weather is nice, I observed a couple approaching the Danish car parked next to mine. He was carrying a three year old boy who was wriggling and kicking, she was carrying a one year old boy who was alternating between floppy and rigid in that annoying way babies do when they are on the wind-up. Between them they were also carrying shopping bags and obviously reaching the end of their collective tether. He was ranting at her in Danish, she was looking grumpy. She waited for him to shut up the said in a Slavic accent, in English, - I told you I can't understand Danish numbers! He ranted some more, again in Danish and the last words he said were fire og tredive. She snapped... English, Oliver, English - Just tell me in fucking English! He swore in Danish, looked stressed and harassed, stopped said fire og tredive to himself slowly while tracing his finger in the air, from right to left, then turned to her and sighed deeply... forty three, he said finally. See, that wasn't so hard, she said condescendingly as she keyed 43 into her phone.
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