Me: We don't know. It is for her . . . (here I blanked on the word for brother's child, since I knew I didn't know the word for niece).
Lady: Brother's child? Sister's child?
Me: Yes! Brother's child. Brother's child.
Lady: Girl? Boy?
Me: Girl. Girl.
The lady nodded and was quiet for a moment, both of us pretending to watch Alex browse the rack while I quickly replayed the conversation in my head, going over the words I had forgotten. My reverie was broken by a single utterance.
Lady: Meiko.
Me: Hm?
Lady: Meiko.
Me: Make? Meiko? Make? Style? (My brain was racing through every conceivable word she could be saying and what she meant by it. Was she saying "make"? Normally I'd have expected that to sound like "meiku" not "meiko" but nothing could be assumed at this point. Was she asking for the style of clothes we were looking for? the brand name? the build of the child? the material composition of the outfit in question? What do you want to know, woman? WHAT?)
Lady: No. In Japanese. Brother's child. "Meiko."
Me: Meiko! Oh! Thank you! Meiko!
I was so excited at the turn this conversation had taken. A new word! I repeated it several times to myself before she started up again, telling me "meiko" was if the child was a girl, but if it's a boy, then the word was "oiko."
Meiko! Oiko! Niece. Nephew. I may never use the terms again, but I know them now! Alex, having finished browsing, waited politely a step away. I thanked the lady for her delightful conversation, and away we went.
Three hours later, Alex apologized for "dragging" me all over the shopping center looking for souvenirs for her family members while I purchased nothing. I didn't notice it had been three hours. I spent the whole time muttering "meiko" and "oiko" to keep myself from forgetting the new words and not paying attention to the shopping at all. Linguistic happiness is so easily and inexpensively achieved . . .
