My wife, Vicky, is an immigrant. When we met eleven years ago, she had already been living in the United States 13 years. I thought she spoke perfect English, but when dessert came she said, “Let’s dive onto this pie.”
She told me she’s from Venezuela. I’m from Miami and knew nothing about Venezuela. I said, “South America, right?”
She said, “That’s good. I’ve dated Gringas who think it’s near Greece.” (READ FULL ESSAY HERE…)
