Life: Idiotropic

... that I didn't need.

I know the word for chicken.  It's "pollo."  I buy it all the time at the market.  Some Americans (not me) have made the mistake of trying to make it feminine and ordering "polla," which makes the Spanish grocers fall over laughing to the embarrassment of the aforementioned American (agin, not me - thank goodness).  Until now, I wouldn't have understood why.  I didn't learn this kind of vocabulary in my Spanish class.  Some things, I just don't want to know.

We experienced some bullying last week.  Not "we," really, but my 9-year old girl.  She was repeatedly called loser and tonta (stupid).  One boy picked up leaves and smashed them into her face knocking her glasses to the ground.  A group of boys followed her around each day asking "do you eat 'polla?'"  She came home angry and upset, hating school and begging not to go back.

I was upset and sent a note to the school.  On Friday, I found out what "polla" meant.  Anger, frustration, hurt, disgust:  I was absolutely horrified.  Apparently this thing that is not a female chicken refers to that little floppy thing that hangs between these little boys legs.  Yep.  Gross.  These boys are nine and they're asking "do you eat...."

Nine.  Seriously, is this normal?  Certainly not in my world.  Thankfully, my note was met with as much horror and the issue was dealt with immediately.  So far, so good... Arianna came home on Monday absolutely happy that now "everybody wants to me [her] friend." 

Phew.  Now I don't have to go down there and beat up any prepubescent school boys.