“What wad are you in?” asked the constable at our polling place.
“Excuse me?” asked my spouse, leaning in closer.
“Tell me your street name, and I’ll tell you your wad,” said the constable.
“Wad?” asked my spouse.
“Honey,” I whispered, “I think he’s asking what ward we’re in.”
Nearly five years in Massachusetts, and we still need a translator.
Imperfect Happiness 