That Girl Moment #989: How Do You Say "That Girl" in Spanish?

This entry could also be subtitled as: Pride Goeth before the Fall.

So I am taking a new class at OCU called Spanish for Ministry. It's a class filled with both advanced spanish speakers and those who have never studied the language. There are graduate students like me who are taking it along with OCU freshmen, so it's definitely a hodgepodge. Some of the folks are not Religious Studies majors and they are just taking the course for a brush up.

Now I had a wonderful and fantastic Spanish teacher. Her name is Mrs. Bough, and she taught us very well. She had a flair for Spanish culture and had lived abroad. She also worked at Mi Pueblo for a while which makes her even more of a folk hero to me. She taught me everything I know about Latin America and I am proud to say I was her student. I took four years of Spanish in high school and received 12 college credits, none of which transferred to OCU because they didn't have any Spanish classes.

So I had The Big Head when I walked into the classroom the other day. Big Girl on Campus thought she had the language mastered.

When will I learn.

So my professor, a dear man named Dr. Walls who was a missionary in Venezuela and has taught me lots of things, went around the room working on introductions. Everyone was simply doing what we had been told to do-repite, por favor (repeat, please). He asked us how we are doing and we were to respond to him and extend to him the same courtesy. Dora the Explorer here thought that was too simple and began to write down sentences to translate. He called on me, I answered and that was that.

Then the moment came. He went around the room asking our names. In high school, Mrs. Bough gave us the luxury of choosing names with a more Spanish nature. Some kids, like Pete or Chuck, might become Pedro or Carlos. But there was no translation as far as I know for Lauren. So I went for a more stylish and beautiful name: Isabel. Sweet Mrs. Bough still refers to me as "Isa" whenever I see her, and I can't imagine learning Spanish as anyone but my also.known.as in honor of her. So I silently schemed in my mind to tell Dr. Walls about it in Spanish when my turn came.

{I know you are shaking your heads sadly. Don't do that. I feel awkward enough...}

So finally he got around to me and said, "Que es su nombre?" (I forget how to do the upside down question marks. Forgive me.)

I thought I would answer him in a large-and-in-charge kind of way, showing that I was La Jefa of la clase Espanol. Sweet and humble, I know.

When will I learn.



"Me llamo es Lauren pero mis amigos span...
err....
mis amigos...
uh...
mis amigos span....
MY SPANISH FRIENDS CALL ME ISABEL!!"



Everyone in the class laughed including Dr. Walls, who is too precious to have any thoughts that I received my just desserts for trying to be all cool and you know, Senorita Rica Suav-eeeee.


My reward for trying to earn a Student of the Year star: a severe ache from the syndrome known as Big Head, a steaming blue plate special of humility served up over-hard by the Holy Spirit, and turning muy muy RED in the face as my classmates laughed.



Esa Chica es loca.


Did you ever have a time when embarrassment led you to a clearer picture of humility?