Ich spreche nicht Deutsch

It’s the end of the day, and I’m playing with my niece before her bedtime. We’re both on the floor and she’s “reading” a book, sitting in the crook between my legs.

On a large bookcase beside the change table, there are toys on the bottom, books in the middle, trinkets on the top shelf. As my eyes wonder, I find something that catches my eye.

“What does mellok mean?” I ask my sister who crouches down beside me. “Are these German blocks?” I point to a set of foam blocks in the bookcase.

“Uh, Steven, it says yellow. You’re reading it upside down.” She has a look of concern on her face, fearful that I may have to ride the shortbus from now on.

“Oh Jesus…” I lower my head in embarrassment.

“Dude, your IQ just went way down right now.” She laughs.

“I know.”

What’s sad isn’t that I said a really stupid thing out loud without thinking, it’s that I’ve just turned into my father.