A few years ago, my wife and I had the opportunity to live with a family in Tibilisi, Georgia. They didn’t speak much English and we spoke far less Kartuli, the national language of Georgia. Still, with the help of our phrase books, sign language and good humor, we were able to communicate.

One day we sat down to breakfast to discover that the man of the house, Badri, was absent. As best we could, we asked, “Where Badri?”

“Badri, go prophylactica,” replied Manana, Badri’s wife.

We couldn’t help it, but my wife and I began to giggle. It was not a particularly mature way to act, I admit, but I suppose there was something about the unexpected familiar sounding word that just set us off like two children in the back of a classroom. 

“Prophylactica?” we asked incredulously.

“Yes. Prophylactica.”

Well, with the help of our dictionaries, we discovered that 'prophylactica' is the Kartuli term for service station. Badri had taken his car to be tuned up. Preventive maintenance.

Now it was Manana’s turn to ask. “Prophylactica. Why ha ha?” 

This was a bit harder to explain because our phrase book didn’t include the words 'prophylactic' or 'condom' or even 'birth control'. Vickie, my wife, not what you’d call a shy woman, took it upon herself to describe, using gestures, why we laughed at the word 'prophylactica'. (Sorry, but although this is really the funniest part, it is more visual than verbal.) Eventually, Manana understood, and we all had a good laugh. 

Soon after this, Badri returned home and Vickie, extending the joke, asked, “Badri? Prophylactica?” while winking theatrically. Manana broke up, turned red and slumped onto a chair while we all had a good laugh at the expense of poor Badri, an old-world, stern type. He just stared, confused. When Manana explained the joke to him, he pointed his finger at Vickie in mock horror at how she had corrupted his wife, saying, “You, you, you!”

A few days later, Badri was dropping us off at the home of another family with whom we were to spend the night. As he helped us with our overnight luggage, Badri grabbed me by the shoulder and stage whispered, “Prophylactica?”

A friendship based on bilingual puns and good will was born.

Author's Biography

After teaching writing and literature in college for twenty-five years, Wayne Scheer retired to follow his own advice and write. 

Some of his work has appeared in Literary Potpourri, Flashquake, Scrivener's Pen, Hiss Quarterly, Quintessence, and Smokelong Quarterly. 

In 2002, he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Wayne lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

E-mail Wayne.

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