Lost in Translation

My next door neighbors growing up were a sweet old couple named Ines and Charlie.  They didn’t have kids of their own, but I always felt they would have made wonderful grandparents.

My parents have thick Spanish accents so when they say “Ines” you hear “Anus”.  So, until I was about 8 years old I thought our neighbors were Anus and Charlie. 

My sisters and I tried to correct my parents pronunciation, but after a while we gave up.  Besides, what kid wouldn’t love a neighbor named “Anus”, especially when it meant hearing stuff like this:

Anus made you girls some cookies.  I know how much you love Anus cookies! (Yummmm?)

You girls smell like you’ve been at Anus’s.   (Charlie smoked pipes.)

One of you girls should weed Anus’s garden for her. (No thanks.)

Did your father mow Anus’s lawn?  It’s getting pretty thick. Why are you laughing? (Obvious.)

I need you take this soup to Anus.  She isn’t feeling well and has been throwing up all day. (Anus puking.  *Pause for visual*)

I don’t think Anus should be driving, anymore.  (Why? Is her stink eye getting bad?)

 Anus passed away not too long ago, and I miss her.  I miss sweet, sweet, Anus.

R.I.P. Anus Ines.