A while ago, back when the weather was nice and warm, and I had my weekly tennis sessions with my Russian French classmate (who I hereby dub "Meg"), there was this rather harried woman who approached my side of the court, so I went to the fence to see what was up:
"De man! De man streaker?", she asked.
I did a double take: "I'm sorry, what?" I asked.
"De man! Streaker! De man streaker?" she asked again, rather agitated.
All I could think of was gee, I certainly didn't notice any naked man running past here, so I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders and said "Sorry, I didn't see nothing", apologetically walking away...
... to see my tennis partner at the net, with a puzzled look on her face, as if trying to figure out the direction of something.
As I approached, Meg said to me "I never remember which street is where, but maybe Damen is over there? Oh, she's gone now, I hope she finds it."
I'm looking at her stunned, I just started laughing so hard.
Note for the future: The next time a Russian-accented lady asks about a streaking man, she might just be asking for directions to Damen Street.
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and here's a bit of whining: dunno what I'm battling, but this morning my temperature was "a hair's breadth away from triple digits", and pretty much all afternoon my gastro-intestinal system has been rather unhappy. Fun.
So come join me on Facebook and let me battle you on scrabulous (while it still exists) to keep me occupied! :)