I took Eli to our usual place get a haircut yesterday. The owner, Tracy, and her sister, Jennifer, sometimes converse in their native language, Vietnamese.
I had my nose in a book at one point while Eli was in Tracy's chair when I heard them all bust out laughing.
I walked over to see what was so funny. "Did you hear what Eli said?" Tracy asked me--once she could breathe again.
"Eli said ..." Tracy looked at Jennifer and they cut up again -- neither of them able to tell me through their laughter.
"What did you say, Eli?" I looked right at him, a twinge of dread creeping up my spine.
Jennifer, who was holding her side by now tried to answer "We ... we were talking in Vietnamese ..." but, she couldn't continue.
"Yeah," Eli broke in, "and I told them I didn't know what they were saying because I don't speak Monkey."
They busted up all over again. He was dead serious. I wanted to crawl in a hole.
As you can imagine, we had a long talk about respect and inappropriate comments on the way home. And after dinner. And before bed.
And I just kept thanking God that they thought it was funny. I'm still mortified.
God help me with this kid.