I stopped at a nail salon after work today.

A couple weeks ago, I went to a place in the local mall. The prices were relatively affordable and I had a very nice conversation with the kind man who shaped and painted my nails. I thought the experience was pretty darn awesome: he has lived in the United States for 30 years and speaks impeccable English.

I confess that my ears are lousy at understanding Eastern accents, and it is a skill that continues to elude me. Communication is generally a strength of mine, so I tend to feel very stupid when I cannot facilitate a complete exchange. My nails always look great thanks to very skillful individuals, but it's usually an uncomfortable appointment because of the language barrier.

I just smile and nod a lot, hoping I haven't agreed to something à la The Puffy Shirt. So, finding a salon with someone who speaks fluent English was AMAZING. I went back for that reason alone. Unfortunately, he was not there this time.

So, I smiled and nodded through an hour with a very sweet girl who did her darnedest to converse with me through the broken English she knew. Luckily, she had great nonverbal queues, and I wasn't as lost in what she was saying as I would have been otherwise.

At the end of the appointment, where I place my hands under the UV dryers, she couldn't get the light in one of them to turn on at first. She muttered several things in Vietnamese before crying out, "WHAT THE HELL!?" I had to stop myself from laughing because she uttered the phrase so perfectly that I knew she picked it up phonetically. Truly, it was the one thing from the entire appointment that I completely understood without drawing any conclusions as to what she was trying to say! Man, it was like a breath of fresh air—all over what-the-hell!

Maybe next time, I'll just keep our conversation to swear words and other curses. On those at least, we seem to speak the same language! Word to the wise: cuss!