Too Bad With Her Mouth Open, She's Scratching...
Honeysuckle," I asked, "Is it true you have a flower that talks?" I asked, as I tried to keep a straight face—hoping to get the facts."I do," she said, "I'll show you what flowerbed he's in—then you're on your own. I'm not going to go near that guy! He uses such terrible language. Yesterday... he called me a Slut." Well, that wasn't very nice," I said, sympathizing with her."Okay, See him over there! He's in the Daffodil bed," she said, pointing to about forty daffodils all planted close together." How will I know which one he is—in fact, how do I even know he is not a she?" I asked."Oh," she laughed, "You'll know."I Meet Mr. DaffodilAbout now, things are starting to look dubious. Very dubious! I walk over to the flowerbed full of daffodils. I'm looking down... trying to figure out which one is the notorious Mr. Daffodil when I hear this raspy unfriendly voice."What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen a daffodil before? "About now, I'm going into a state of shocked disbelief!. While I absorbed most of American English quickly after we arrived, like most newcomers, I sometimes struggled with idioms and slang. This is the story of how a linguistic misunderstanding led to my losing my virginity.Football (you call it soccer in this country) was second nature to me because I had been playing since I could run. I guess I was considered quite a find at the high school I attended. Soccer doesn't have the social clout that American football has but I was still looked upon as a legitimate 'jock' by my classmates. At fifteen, I was large for my age, six feet even and about a hundred seventy pounds. I often worked out in the weight room after school so, while I wasn't muscle-bound by any means, I looked very fit.During halftime of our first game of the season, I was lying on the grass soaking up the warm spring sunshine when I overheard a conversation between two of my teammates. What I heard was so odd that I found myself eavesdropping because I recognized the name.
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