Is my Spanish that bad?

A few weekends ago, we went up to the Bazar Sabado in San Angel, a lively outdoor art market in a beautiful colonial section in the south of DF (read about the Bazar in Julie’s wonderful post here).   After a lovely day of eating, window shopping, browsing and otherwise doing nothing, we headed home.

In true Mexico City fashion, my food grazing instinct kicked in, and we stopped at a fruit vendor’s cart on Avenida Revolucion to get a street snack of a giant cup of sliced mango. After I ordered (in Spanish), the vendor told me (likewise), “you speak Spanish just like George Bush.” Then he laughed.

I tried to tell him that this was an unwelcome comparison, but he just laughed some more. Grrrr. So, what to do? Get in a fight? Express my outrage by walking away? Patiently explain to him that we are not fans of our ex-President and that his observation, though well meant, was insulting?

Nope. I laughed along, with him, but only a little. Then I bought the mango. It was delicious.

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