Doug and I went to a birthday party. No big deal, right? Maybe not, except for the fact the birthday boy was Swiss, and being asked to the birthday party of a Swiss is like receiving an invitation to his inner circle – a relational Holy of Holies, if you will. We got a babysitter and felt super special.
The greatest part of our evening came at the toast. We all lifted glasses of champaign, toasting according to our own cultures. "Cheers!" we said. "Pröschtli!" said our Swiss friends. In an effort to join in, I echoed, "Brüschtli!"
"What did you say?" Oscar said, laughing uncontrollably.
"Brüschtli!" I repeated, with gusto.
He then explained to me, now doubled over with the giggles, that "Pröschtli" means "cheers" but "Brüschtli" means "little breasts."