So the opening of the Shoreditch Festival was great, it didn't rain, the music was nice and I bought a great pair of earrings.
All was great until I got home and realized there had been a huge misunderstanding.
In the middle of the day I went in search of some festival food and came back all happy with a sausage sandwich I found at the POLISH stall.
ME - "Look guys, I got a POLISH meat sandwich. I am going back to my roots" (as I am ¼ Polish)
HUSBAND - "Really, you are eating that? Ok, whatever rocks your boat."
I thought it was a slightly weird response from him, since as far as I know he doesn't have anything against the Polish or any other nationalities.
Later on, at home, as we are talking about the great day we had, and I am saying how one of the highlights was my incredibly yummy sandwich, the husband says:
HUSBAND - "I actually cannot believe you ate PONY meat".
ME - "Excuse me? PONY as in cute little horses that every young girl dreams of having? (not me though, as I have always been scared of horses, even the cute little ones)
HUSBAND – “Yes, that’s what you ate, no?”
ME (HORRIFIED) – “Noooo, you crazy man. POLISH meat, not PONY meat”.
So there you have it…my man thinks I am capable of not only eating pony meat, but also bragging about it. Love is weird. And, it seems, my pronunciation is even weirder.
(Fancy some pony on the grill?)