Lost in Translation

Sometimes, in movies, the hero falls in love with a beautiful, exotic, foreign woman. They exchange Meaningful Looks. They Accidentally Touch Hands. They speak the Language of Love. But, of course, these are star-crossed lovers and she literally speaks a foreign language altogether. And in their failed verbal exchanges, there are often subtitles illuminating their awkward dialog.
It often runs comedic: "My dearest lobster, you are the only octopus I will ever love." "My funny pumpkin head. You have returned for me. Our rabbit grows stronger day by day." "I must have you, my goulash pie. We were dining to be together."
This is how I often imagine it is to be a child. Your vocabulary is somewhat limited, so you must explain the words you hear by reconciling them to the words you know. Even when the outcome is nonsensical, you cleave unto the syntax and words you understand so that you are not lost in the language that surrounds you.
Recent examples:
S was asking me about God. (see: crucifixion, death to first borns, resurrection). I said that God is a mystery. That nobody sees him or touches him. That we are people, and can't know everything, and that we can't ever really understand God.
"So, he speaks Spanish?"
Pretty much.
Last night at dinner, E was a total space cadet. He was nearly falling off his chair, not paying attention to conversation, and generally looking befuddled. I joked that we would be calling him Joaquin Phoenix for the rest of the night.
"Yah," says S. "Walking Penis. Because your penis walks."
Of course.