Reaching Back To My European Roots

My former co-worker, "Jane," was an interesting character. One day, as she was walking past my desk, she muttered, "Get back on the cocoa box!"

"Pardon?" I asked innocently.

"Get on the cocoa box!"

"What could you possibly mean?"

"What I mean, Swiss Miss, is get back on the cocoa box where you belong."

"Ummm... that's an interesting nickname. What should I call you?"

"E.D."

I obviously watch too much CNN because I asked, "erectile dysfunction?"

"No, Swiss Miss. Ebony Dragon."

Another day my co-worker, Mormon Mom, was looking through some surveys that asked about everyone's foreign language capabilities. She became confused and asked, "Guys, umm... Jane speaks a language that I've never heard of."

I am pretty confident in my cultural knowledge, so I asked her to tell us what it was.

"Ummmmm... ebb-oh-nicks? Where do they speak that?"

"Ebb-oh-nicks? Hmmmm...." And then it came to me. She was saying Ebonics. And now I know where they speak it: it's called my street.