I put my foot in my mouth this morning when I was talking to an old neighbor. I was really glad to run into him. Back when we were neighbors, I had a good relationship with his wife. We often shared tips about growing plants and went for long walks together. They actually moved because she was eager to grow vegetables in “real ground,” as she used to say.

After I finished my speech about how cool she is and how much I miss her, he blurted out, “We divorced.” (Oops.) “She met a guy online and made a French exit.”

Up to that point, I had kept my self-awareness on. I apologized for my blunder and excused myself, which came across as sincere since we hadn’t seen each other in a few years. But then my mind started to drift, thinking about how the French express the same idea: filer à l’anglaise is the French equivalent of “making a French exit.” (A funny way of returning the favor to your neighbors.)

While he was taking digs at her, I could hear my own inner voice telling me that I barely had the vocabulary for talking about self-awareness. I think he could tell I was off, so he just wrapped things up. We shook hands and walked away in opposite directions. My obsession with languages has gotten me into trouble several times, and I suspect this won’t be the last.