I Thought I’d Know More Danish by Now

Part 2: False Cognates I Have Loved

(In case you missed it, you can find Part 1: Faking It Grocery Style here.)

The bright lining of my very dark and humbling “I suck at Danish” cloud is that I have the pleasure of continuing to be amused by the sometimes strange and unfortunate false cognates that exist between Danish and English. So, while I am attempting (and presently failing) to become Danish literate, I still get to see things that I cannot unsee. Like, before I really knew Spanish, I’d see the word “yo,” and think “Yo! (greeting).” Now I just think, “Ah, the first person singular pronoun of the Spanish language.” I don’t even think “Yo! (greeting)” anymore. Those days were funny, but not very useful if you want to speak Spanish for real. But I’m still in that funny phase of my encounter with the Danish language, so let’s just cherish it, okay?

SLUT

I’m tired of being judged by my sanctimonious washing machine. Every time I do a load of laundry I get this:

WTF, washing machine? You got a problem with my LIFESTYLE? Or perhaps you are going by the original Middle English definition of the word (slutte), which is “dirty, slovenly woman”?

In which case, you might actually have a point.

Does she know what they’re writing about her in this magazine?

Sometimes it seems as though the Danes are into declaring just about everything and everyone “SLUT.” I don’t know what the woman in the above photo did to earn the label, but this looks like some kind of shaming piece to me. This article may be about a slut on meds, and she has some kind of darling, and something about her head. (I think this piece is actually about menopause, but I’m too lazy to google translate it. Which probably explains why, nine months into living here, I still can’t speak the language.)

Also, every now and then you’ll see a clothing store or similar place of business excitedly advertising a “Slutspurt.” Which is disturbing in some ways. Like, Why would I want to buy that? Not that there is anything wrong with a slut spurting, but I just don’t really want to buy it, whatever it is.

And I have a blanket objection to the term “slut” anyway, but that’s for another essay. An essay which has already been written by about fifty thousand other people.

(Note: In case you are dying to know, “slut” actually translates to “the end.” “Slutspurt” refers to the final days of a sale, a final push to the end.)

DIG CHEERIOS IN THE BRA

(Note: The “ger dig en bra” part is not Danish; it is, in fact, Swedish. Let this stand as Exhibit A illustrating the depth of my ignorance about the Danish language, given that it took me about six months to figure this out on a conscious level.

Every time I look at the back of the Cheerios box, I can’t help but see something written about digging Cheerios out of my bra. And I’m like, “Yes, totally, I have been there! Cheerios ger dig en MY bra, too!” Finally somebody has said it. They get in your bra, especially when you have a little two-year-old putting them there. He likes to store things there, like a squirrel building up his cache for the winter. Other items that he has attempted to store in the bra: bananas, both peeled and otherwise. Crackers — do I even need to say crackers? Of COURSE crackers. Water. Carrots. Fruit sticks. Rice cakes. Cheese. Toast. Pizza. There are positive aspects to this practice, and annoying aspects. Good: you can snack later, or your kid can snack later. Bad: itchiness, crumbs, stickiness. Cheerios ger dig en bra!! (Which is actually Swedish, but it took me awhile to figure that out, so I still think of it as Danish.)

POTUS KONDOMER

Just what you’ve always wanted: a brand of condoms called “POTUS.” Sorry for my shitty camera phone and my equally shitty photography skills. But deal with it; this is basically what you’re getting from here on out:

So the Danes have some kind of sex thing about our president, eh? No need to explain; I get it. I totally get it.

I keep waiting for them to come out with SCOTUS condoms, but I doubt we’ll ever be that lucky. Not as sexy. Nobody wants to be thinking about Alito or Scalia, or about Thomas and the coke can, while they’re making sweet love to their beloved lover(s).

And if you don’t know what POTUS and SCOTUS mean, you need to geek out on American politics a little bit more, okay?

SKUM BANANER

Nothing more to say here. Except, I sit here and imagine what it must taste like and I can’t… I just can’t…

FART

This is the most popular English-Danish false cognate in our household, and it probably would be in yours, too, if you lived in Denmark. Admit it! You love fart jokes; we all do.

Yes, lots and lots of fart here in Denmark, especially when it comes to tourists. I know when you are traveling, the old belly can get a little rumbly. In America, where I am from, we would politely ignore the gastrointestinal issues of the people around us, especially those who are VISITING OUR COUNTRY AS GUESTS. But NO, Denmark, you have to announce it to the world.

(Oh, so, in case you’re still wondering, “fart” in Danish means “speed.” My four year old likes to yell “More fart!” when I push him on the swings.)

JERK

A little harsh, don’t you think, oh Parents of Jerk Langer? What did you name your other kids? Asshole Langer? Dickhead Langer?

BAD

Here’s a little quiz for you, readers. A three-part questionnaire, really:

1. Kids: bad or good?

Come on, now, kids aren’t so bad.

2. Billund: bad or good?

Aw, cut yourself some slack, Billund. There’s room for improvement, but Billund isn’t such a bad town. Nice bike lanes. Good indoor swimming options. And you totally have the “Plant Lots of Fruit Trees and Berry Shrubs at the Playgrounds So the Kids Don’t Come Home Looking for Snacks Too Soon/So The Kids Have Something To Eat When They Wander off And Get Lost” thing down cold. I also like that the only graffiti in town is a spray painted line drawing of a giant penis. Although, maybe we could use a little more graffiti here, now that I think about it.

3. Baby: Bad or Good?

Well, okay, sometimes the baby IS bad. But only mildly bad.

FAG LITERATURE

Thanks to Amos for the football team idea.

WTF? What other slurs am I going to encounter in this library? Besides, I thought Denmark was supposed to be different; more progressive, more intellectual, more appreciative of art in all its forms. I don’t know. I’m just surprised, is all.

Imagine a movie from the 1980s. The jocks hate the nerds, and vice versa. (Okay, EVERY movie from the 80s was about this.) Someone decides to make a new library and, because the jocks rule the school, the (American) FOOTBALL TEAM gets to name the library, much to the chagrin of the book-loving nerds.

Coach Wilbur: Okay team, what should we call THIS section of the library — you know, the section with the books with all the… uh, words?

(short pause)

Football player #1: I’ve got it, coach!

(Team leans in, listening intently)

FAG LITERATURE!!

(The team cheers, jumping up in the air and giving each other high fives while yelling “Fag Literature!!”)

(Fade to next scene…)

(Okay, in case you’re wondering, “faglitteratur” means something like “topical nonfiction.”)

Well, that’s a small sample of the little jewels that seem to pop up from time to time in this journey through lovely Denmark. And now, dear friends, it is time for me to share with you this little bit of news: I begin my formal Danish classes in November. (Take a moment to catch your breath.)

Yes, yes, I am aware of this fleeting moment of innocence in which I live, the moments where I can still see the word “fart” and think about farts, see the word “slut” and think, “slut!”, see the word “fag” and think, “umm, whoa, Denmark? fag?”. Such fun, you say — why would a person want to toss that innocence aside and become more fluent, so that when said person encounters these words, they actually attach to them their correct Danish definitions?

Well, have you considered, friends, that under these conditions, one may begin to feel a sort of linguistic hostility coming from the Danes? After all, I just did a load of laundry, and I see no justification for being labeled a slut by a stupid Danish washing machine. Think of the peace that would come with thinking “End! My laundry cycle has come to an end!” rather than “Slut? It thinks I’m a slut? What, does it do an analysis of the proteins in the water? Wait! That was a load of only my kids’ clothes — wtf?” Or, maybe I just want to get a book from the library about global warming or something about the natural history of cancer — I could find the “faglitteratur” sign and think, “Hmm, I think I’ll explore this section, the section that contains topical nonfiction literature,” instead of, “Why are you calling me a fag, Denmark, just because I like to read books and LEARN?” And perhaps I might even get fluent to the point where I could get on a Turistfart bus and not feel embarrassed, instead of getting all defensive and thinking, “Yes, I am sometimes a tourist but it doesn’t mean you have to point out the ways in which my digestive tract needs to readjust every time I eat a new type of yogurt here.”

At this time in my life, I am a seeker of peace and understanding. I’m too old for these shenanigans. Therefore, I choose Danish classes. Thank you, and good night.

(applause)

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