Don’t Blame Me! It’s My Accent.

Remember playing telephone as a kid? Each person would whisper a message to the next person, who would then whisper to the next, and on the message went until it made its way around the circle, becoming more and more convoluted with each exchange.

I sometimes feel like I’m playing this game when trying to decipher the real-life messages I receive from people who have very distinct accents. Such was the case a few days ago when someone (obviously a scammer) seemed to be calling in regard to very important information concerning my (I’m-not-sure-what-he-said-here) number. Account number? Phone number? Social security number? One of these had apparently been compromised.

Of course, I realize that the message itself was compromised, so I did not return this call.

Funnily enough, communication between parent and child can also resemble the game of telephone. After I picked up my oldest from school this afternoon, she invented a game in which we would send “messages” to each other as we rolled a ball back and forth. During one of these exchanges, she asked me if I got her “mesh-age.” I chuckled at her mispronunciation, and her response was classic.

“Don’t laugh. I have an accent.”

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