Missing letters and extra syllables

Anyone who has learned a foreign language knows that there is often a fine line between saying ''le mot juste'' (the right word) and really sticking your foot in your mouth. I myself have certainly produced a few good gems over the last few years -- and even as recently as last night.

Back when my French abilities were in a state of charming mediocrity (now they're just in a state of decline), I was in the car with a much older, more conservative colleague. He was awkward, but polite. The radio was blaring as we buckled our seat belts. ''Maybe he is older, tragically single and hard of hearing all at once,'' I thought. Shaking my head knowingly as he spoke, I had no idea what ''we'' were talking about. Soon I worked up a bit of courage. After rehearsing the following line carefully in my head, I said, ''Est-ce que tu peux baiser la radio?''

Unfortunately, I had just asked him to fu-- the radio. The mistake was innocent enough. A second ''s'' in the word turns it from a sexual act, baiser (which can also mean ''to kiss'') to a dignified request meaning ''to lower,'' baisser. A single ''s'' in French sounds more like an English ''z,'' which is important if you want to distinguish between ''poison'' (pwah-zzowh, or poison) and ''poisson'' (pwah-sssoh, or fish).

My colleague was polite. He didn't try to have sex with the radio; he just shut it off.

I often retell this story to students when we get down to the nitty-gritty of English pronunciation. ''Making mistakes is okay, normal even,'' I tell them. ''Just be prepared to laugh at yourself.''
 
At a recent lesson, one of my students spoke about the bank's ''chair holders.'' I interrupted him immediately and picked up a chair. ''Frédéric,'' I said, ''Right now I am a chair holder. I think you are talking about shhhhhhareholders. Shhh shhh shhh,'' I repeated.

But back to last night when I walked into the pharmacy with a stuffy nose. ''Mon nez est bouchonné,'' I told the pharmacist loudly. I knew I'd misspoken when all eyes looked towards me. Turns out that I had accidentally told her that my nose was corked (like a tainted bottle of wine). It's okay, though, because I was so congested that she understood what I meant, ''mon nez est bouché.'' After discussing my symptoms further, I bought a few products and was on my way. ''It's bouché (bou-shay), Johanna,'' I chastised myself, knowing that I confuse those two words often. Then I realized that bou-shay can also indicate boucher, or butcher. Yes, French is difficult, and silent letters are scattered all about.

But historically, it is an important language, too. If you're watching the Olympics these days, you might notice that the announcements are made in French before English; both are official languages of the Games. Monsieur Pierre de Fredy de Coubertin is credited with re-launching the Olympics in1896. But Title IXers beware: Coubertin was against female athletes. He argued that it was simply unappealing to watch women exert their bodies that way, and that since they did not participate in ancient Greece, they should not participate in more modern times, either. He did, however, think that women were suited for the task of handing out medals. Thankfully, his opinion was overruled, and four years later, the Olympics had its first female competitors (in Paris, no less!).

For now, my French is far from perfect, much like the rest of me. As I watch the rest of the Summer Games, let's just hope that I don't get served a corked bottle of wine.