In need of a Berlitz course

After nearly one year of marriage, which was preceded by two years of living together and one year of dating long distance before that, I'm realizing that my husband and I speak different languages.

This morning, I found myself wandering the grounds of the area's largest and oldest drag racing facility (shouldn't every neighborhood have one?) surrounded by car guys and car parts and a surprising number of objects that I forgot existed outside of Kentucky.

For him, it was a tiny piece of home in the middle of a land that still seems too unfamiliar and harsh. For me, it was a journey back into the foreign world that I had forgotten about. Standing at that car show, I was reminded of how strange it felt when I first moved to Kentucky. There was an entire world about which I knew nothing.

My husband is fluent in the language of this world. He is constantly trying to explain to me the purpose of a cold air intake or why the position of this or that little hunk of metal means that a car probably won't run.

I have no idea what he is talking about.

I only recently found out that cars don't have carburetors any more.

I still don't have a clue why it's cool to have a loud car.

What I know is that this little world makes him happy. He enjoys talking to people who are impressed that he owns a '66 Mustang. He likes criticizing other people's shoddy repair jobs and telling me why they aren't the best solution.

He complains that the guys on Car Talk spend too much time being entertaining and not enough time diagnosing cars.

I assume this is how he feels when I try to explain science to him.