A woman with a terrible bee-hive hairdo and sunglasses that she wears inside the store approaches the counter. I ask her if she'd like to taste anything.
"Yes, actually," she says, "I'd love to try your cream brûlée."
I hesitate before I nod my acknowledgement of her request. For confirmation, I stick my head around to the other side of the counter to see the ice cream clearly labelled, "Crème Brûlée". Unfortunately, she is the 4th person today to butcher the title that is meant to be said with a French Finesse.
She still stands on the other side, waiting for me to hand over the taster. With despair, I pass the ice cream into her hand.
I must accept that not all of us are born with a sensitivity to butchered languages, but sometimes, I must confess:
It gets difficult.
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