The lawyer, a seasoned professional who had seen everything from simmering resentments to screaming matches in the hallway, had no idea that this frantic Polish man would soon present him with the strangest, funniest, and most bewildering case of his career. He motioned him to a chair, offering the calmest voice he could muster.

“Let’s start from the beginning. Why do you want a divorce?”

The man leaned forward, breath shaky, hands gripping the edge of the chair as if preparing for impact. “My wife,” he said with trembling certainty, “she is try to kill me.”

This was the moment the lawyer mentally switched from divorce paperwork to potential criminal defense. Attempted murder cases didn’t come often, but when they did, they tended to begin with sentences exactly like that.

But nothing — truly nothing — could have prepared him for what came next.

Lost in Translation — and Headfirst Into Chaos

The man’s English was functional, but barely. Every question from the lawyer seemed to generate answers that made less sense than the last. The attorney tried to remain patient, but each explanation dragged them further into linguistic confusion.

“Do you have grounds for divorce?”

“Yes,” the man said proudly. “One acre. And house.”

The lawyer blinked. “No, no — grounds means reason. Do you have a reason?”

“Oh yes,” the man replied earnestly. “Foundation very strong. Concrete.”

This was going to be a long day.

Trying to redirect, the lawyer asked about communication problems. The man nodded vigorously. He began explaining how his wife talked to her relatives in Poland, which he interpreted as “problems in the relationship.” When asked about infidelity, he excitedly described his “hi-fi stereo system” and a very good DVD player he bought on sale.

By the tenth minute of their conversation, the lawyer was silently questioning not only his profession but the entire legal system that had led him to this moment.

Searching for the Real Issue

The attorney decided to regroup. “Let’s simplify,” he said. “Is there any violence in the marriage? Has your wife harmed you physically?”

“No,” the man said. “I only get up earlier every day. She sleeps late.”

That wasn’t helpful. The lawyer pushed further: “Has she threatened you? Do you genuinely believe she wishes to hurt you?”

At that, the man sat up straight, eyes full of sudden seriousness. This, apparently, was the moment he had been waiting for.

“Yes,” he whispered dramatically. “I have proof.”

The lawyer’s eyebrows rose. Finally — something concrete. Something meaningful. Something he could actually act on.

“What proof do you have?”

The man hesitated for effect — his own attempt at courtroom dramatics — and then delivered the revelation he believed would shake the very foundation of the legal world.

“My wife buy bottle,” he said. “At drugstore.”

The lawyer waited. “…And?”

“She put in bathroom.”

Again, the lawyer waited, resisting the urge to glance at the clock.

The man continued, “Label say… POLISH REMOVER.”

He sat back, folding his arms triumphantly, as if he had just exposed a conspiracy worthy of an international thriller.

The Lawyer’s Slow Spiral Into Realization

“Polish remover?” the lawyer repeated slowly, carefully.

“Yes!” the man declared. “Remove Polish! I am Polish!” He pointed at his own chest in case the lawyer missed the significance. “She want remove Polish man. Remove me. Kill me.”

For a moment, time in the office simply stopped. The lawyer stared at him, utterly speechless, while his brain tried to reboot and process the conclusion laid out before him.

“Sir…” the lawyer began gently, “Are you sure the bottle didn’t say… nail polish remover?”

The man’s eyes widened, horrified. He slammed his palm on the desk. “EXACTLY! Nail Polish Remover! Much worse! She want remove Polish with nails. Tear me apart!”

The lawyer exhaled slowly, questioning every decision that had led him to this profession.

Not a Divorce Case — A Dictionary Case

Once the lawyer managed to calm the man down — a task that required patience, compassion, and the linguistic skills of a UN diplomat — he carefully explained that nail polish is not a nationality. That the word “polish” can mean two entirely different things. That his wife had not, in fact, purchased a murder weapon, but simply a bottle of cosmetic solvent.

The man listened. Blinked. Then, astonishingly, sighed with relief so profound it shook the chair.

“Ah,” he said. “This make sense. She like paint nails. Not kill husband.”

The lawyer rubbed his temples. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Then I not need divorce?”

“No,” the lawyer said. “You need an English class.”

The man nodded gratefully, standing up and shaking the lawyer’s hand like a man whose life had been saved. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “You good lawyer. You save marriage.”

He walked out smiling.

The lawyer collapsed into his chair questioning not only his choice of career but the entire universe.

The Lesson Hidden Inside the Laughter

Though the story is hilarious — the kind of misunderstanding so perfect it could star in a sitcom — it carries a deeper truth beneath the comedy.

Language matters.

A single word, misunderstood, can ignite panic, fear, or heartbreak.

Assumptions are dangerous.

When emotion runs ahead of information, even the most irrational fears can feel real.

Communication saves relationships.

What the man needed wasn’t a divorce attorney — it was clarity.

And sometimes, the biggest problems in a marriage aren’t problems at all.

They’re just labels on bottles being misread by someone who’s scared and confused.

A Final Reflection

By the end of the day, the lawyer had handled no divorce, filed no paperwork, and resolved no legal conflict. But he had prevented one man from tearing apart his marriage over a cosmetic product — and perhaps restored a little faith in human connection.

It wasn’t the case the lawyer expected. It wasn’t dramatic litigation. It wasn’t a courtroom victory.

But it was unforgettable.

And it all started with two words that looked, to one terrified man, like a death sentence: