My tongue feels like a pretzel. Seven people at La Jacaranda, each of whom speaks a particular language set taken from French, Spanish, English and some Catalan. So when one us speaks to another the common language between the two persons must, or should, be used. But after a length of time, I note that we are all mixing tongues. Furthermore, our brains scramble more by the end of a day and often the right language is selected for the wrong person--or is it verse-viça?
Fun nonetheless, and good for much laughter.
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