Dancing with a linguist

Thanks to my career, I'm going to live with my parents forever," Gretta said, with sadness and regret. "It seems that the only job a linguist can get in this country is that of a translator or a teacher for other linguists!" she complained loudly, as if the whole place should know.

Listening to her, I thought that the older I get, the more complaining my friends become. If it's not their soccer team, it's their partner, or their entire country, or they don't have money, or they have it and spend it quickly. It's funny that with age, any situation quickly becomes a reason to complain.

In any case, my job there was to support her. So, to lift her spirits, I told her that I thought her work was important because languages are guardians of culture and the most dignified way to understand reality. They are the perfect link between perception and objects. Moreover, translating is a noble task because it allows strangers to understand each other; it is a window to dialogue.

When I finished my speech, I realized that Gretta hadn't heard anything I said. "Let's dance, damn it!" she said after emptying her glass. In twenty minutes, I lost sight of her. I thought she was in the bathroom, but I found her with her friends in the middle of the dance floor. I decided to return home, and the closer I got, the more I wished that when I opened my door, I would magically enter my parents' house, my childhood home.

The next day, we went to have breakfast together. While we were drinking coffee, she complained again about her job. This time, I didn't say anything; I just remember feeling a strong urge to dance.