Flem-barriers

There's something quite smug about being able to communicate in a non-mainstream language whilst stood amongst a crowd of strangers. Being a Flemish native has afforded me many such moments. The trouble is, I'm not the only Flem in the world and most certainly not the only one to roam amongst foreign crowds. And because not every Flem walks around with waffle in hand, it's sometimes hard to spot us.

Cue scene 1:
My brother and I (12 and 10 at the time) are stood in a hotel elevator in Florida, when Fat-Man-In-Shorts walks in. Matt and I look at each other and exchange an awed Flemish "My word, those americans really ARE fat". We giggle and wait for the elevator to come to a halt. When we're about to offload, Fat-Man-In-Shorts turns to us and says in perfect flemish: "Well, it sure was nice to see a few fellow Belgians in this resort."

Painful, to say the least.

But if you can bet on one thing, it's that Karma's a bitch and she most definitely came back with a vengeance. In the Paris underground of all places...

Cue scene 2:
Couple enters the metro, conversing in Flemish and they grab a spot right next to us. Convinced the language barrier is a safe bet, the woman starts bitching to her husband about anyone and everyone in her vincinity. I smirk secretively at Jo, because I obviously understand every word she's saying. Until, that is, she eyes us up and says to her husband: "They're gossiping about us, I'm sure of it. Which one do you think is the male (in their relationship)?"

What bugs me here is this: I had plenty of retorts ready which would have really hit the mark. But then you start doubting your own senses. Did you really overhear her correctly? Just how much of a tit would I look if I turned around with a snipe reply only to find out I'd misheard?

So... I said nothing. Let them walk off without anyone knowing any better.