I don’t understand what the woman who cuts my hair is saying.
She’s very sweet, and she’s great at what she does, but her Vietnamese accent is so strong I have no idea what she’s talking about.
The only thing I can figure out is that the stories she’s telling are meant to be amusing. I say this because she giggles at the end of them. And some of them are apparently about her kids, something I know only because she once pointed to a framed photo of them.
When I first started going to her, I would just nod as she spoke, but it left such long silent gaps in the conversation that it became awkward.
So I soon began saying one of two things, “That’s great,” and “That’s funny.” I alternate the two of those and throw in the occasional “Wow” and “Aren’t kids amazing.”
My problem is that one of these days she is not going to be telling an amusing anecdote. And I’m going to have a conversation like this:
Her: “My son stabbed the mailman.”
Me: “That’s funny.”
Her: “The poor guy died.”
Me: “That’s great.”
Her: “Now my son’s on death row awaiting lethal injection.”
Me: “Aren’t kids amazing?”
Her: “What should I do?”
Perhaps I should go back to nodding.