In the temple of dairy eats, II

The Mother-Wife, the Daughter, the Father-Husband, and the Aunt were eating today at B&H. The sandaled, hair-netted, and ungloved soup-maker, the sturdy older woman I wrote about earlier, sat on a stool at the counter and watched us, in a not unfriendly way, as we ate happily at our table. As we were about to leave, the woman came up to us and started talking to Celeste. (Oops. Sorry for the style shift. I mean, Mother-Wife.)

She was talking to us, I figured out, in Polish. From my knowledge of Russian and a liberal dollop of context, I caught the words for "nose," "breathing," and "chin." What she meant, therefore, was any one of the following:

A. The baby's nose is pressed against the mother's chest, so that she (Blanca) will suffocate.

B. The baby's nose is pressed against the mother's chest, and her (Blanca's) nose will get squashed, flaring out unattractively and ruining any future friendships or romances.

C. The baby can only breathe through her nose. Since her nose is pressed etc., the air will come up into her sinuses and [something or other which I couldn't figure out].

I managed to remember how to say "thank you" in Polish, and did so. We were grateful for the soup-maker's concern, though I'm still not sure what she meant. Blanca (i.e. Daughter) seems happy.

I went home by myself on the bus, and while I was reading my book, thought I heard the bus driver talking to himself. After a few minutes I figured out that, thank goodness, this was not the case. Rather, he was only cursing at other drivers in a loud voice.