Lost in Translation and a Compliment (of Sorts)

    After my walk around town on Saturday afternoon I ventured into the Machete Bar (I was curious to see if the coffee was as unpromising as the name suggested). The lovely young Latina waitress took my order and swayed off to make my coffee. As she prepared it I was rather taken by a song that played over the sound system. When she brought my (as it turned out) delicious coffee I asked her the name of the band. 
   "Oh! I lub dees band!' she said, "They ees berry good! The lyrics and ebberyting. Berry great! They ees Spanish." I again asked her for their name. She blushed.
    "I will write it down for you." She went to the counter and picked up a pencil. She scribbled the name on an order sheet, which she then folded and brought to my table on a little silver change platter. She walked away as I unfolded the missive. The name of the band was Love of Lesbian.
    Later in the evening I was invited by someone to a birthday party in a beautiful artists' studio complex in a renovated Victorian factory on the canal. At one stage a guy stumbled over to where I was sitting and overheard my discussion about my having permanently left Australia.
   "But you don't look old enough to have lived over there for forty-five years", he spluttered.
When I explained that I was certainly old enough, and that I was fifty-six years old, he shouted,
   "Get out! You fucking lying cunt!" Which I thought I had better take as a compliment.

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