Ahhh, broken English. I’m not quite sure what it is—possibly the epeolatrist in me, possibly my love of the absurd—that absolutely adores English that is not quite right. And I don’t begrudge people having a difficult time with our word ordering and sentence structures. This is even hard for our own people, if you proofread some of the stuff that I have. But broken English is a fantastic thing that I, for whatever reason, greatly relish.

Directions that have been literally translated to English via a copy-and-paste method (I’m lookin’ at you, company who sold me my ping pong video game in 2005). Oddly endearing responses to online dating profiles (see my earlier post for a prime example of this bit of wonderful). And—always a treasure—Craigslist replies.

I had replied to a Craigslist furniture post hoping to procure this neat little curio cabinet. $30!! Sweet, right? This thing is adorable.

Only, possibly a little too adorable. Why is this being sold for only $30? Now, often the people on Craigslist don’t really know the value of the thing they’re selling, and more often than that, they just want to get the thing out of their house. So I figure it’s a good idea to respond and ask whether it’s in good condition or if there’s a reason for the mega-savings.

To Whom It May Concern:

Hi there. My name is Meg. I saw your curio and think it’s great. I’d love to purchase it from you. Quick question—are there any noteworthy chips or major marks on it?

Meg

I send this email, content with myself that I have asked a decent, straightforward question. Her response is prompt, thankfully, and I open it with the eagerness I reserve for opening an enormous, shiny present. What is the status of my soon-to-be curio cabinet?

Hi Meg,
Have available.
This is Marina and I don’t know not sure maybe yes some wood only doors or drawing or top and I am happy anytime you can come see around small curio if not, then don’t buy then no problem. My cell is xxx-xxx-xxxx only texts.
Thanks
Marina

Good, good. That’s very helpful. I can’t be sure, but I think that means… it’s a…cabinet.

Well.  *looks around*  …Any more questions for me to send to the oracle, here, anyone? Marina’s open for answers. Maybe you have a life quandary or something that she can clear up for you? No? Okay then. Thank you, Marina, sweetheart. You have a very good day.

Haven’t been contributing much lately. I’ve had a headache that’s lasted for weeks, on and off now, and I’ve been curling up in a sleep hole every opportunity I’ve gotten. Who needs a vacation, huh?

I can say this—it doesn’t take too terribly much to make me happy right around this time of year, when Chicago winter is turning to Chicago spring (except maybe this headache kicking it and my brain going back to normal consistency for a brain. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s attempting to leak out my ears when it feels like this. Headache going away would make me deliriously happy. But since every time I get my brain fixed I just go ahead and break it again, this is clearly why we can’t have nice things). But, yes. Doesn’t take much to make me happy in April. It’s the little things, you know?

Yesterday I saw that all the restaurants in the city have put out their little dine-outside patio furniture for the season. It was, to my knowledge, the first day they did this. Seeing this puts me instantly in a better mood. This is like a big, warm brain hug. Maybe with more energy than a hug, though. Like being goosed. A big, warm brain goose.

Well, that just sounds like the freakiest animal ever.

Ahh, the promise and potential of a miserable, sweltering, wonderful summer to come. Happy spring, Chicago! Iiiiiiiii loves ya.

Save