The scrimmage was fierce and physical.

Body bumps. Flying elbows. Audible grunts as teenage girls kicked soccer balls 25 yards through the air on a muggy afternoon.

They could play the game with authority, and they ran the field like thoroughbreds. It was fun to watch.

Firstborn was out there, fighting for respect. When the game was over, I wanted to tell her I was proud.

Someone should have warned me.

"Those girls are big," I said. "Way to hang with them."

She looked at me with furrowed brow. Honest, I thought it had been a compliment.

"Are you saying they're fat? Are you saying I'm fat?"

"Uh, no."

"They're tall," she insisted. "Not fat. Not huge. Not big."

"All I meant to say was they were strong. They looked like boys out there. I mean, they were tall like boys, only with really muscular legs."

It grew steadily worse.

My life with the female species has taught me a number of things, but nothing has quite prepared me for Girl Speak.

This is the language of teenage girls. Their mothers know this.

Fathers know nada.

Words can blow up in your face without warning. Compliments as well.

And when girls grow up and get married, they learn Wife Speak. I used to tell Mrs. G.: "Hey, nice haircut. When did you decide to finally do something creative with it?"

I don't say that anymore. My ears are still ringing.

Other men, too, struggle to safely navigate through this verbal minefield.

A guy I know unwittingly told his wife he liked his women "thick." When I first heard this, I knew what he meant: He preferred women who were athletic.

His wife heard something else.

When she asked him who was the most beautiful woman in the world, the poor man actually paused.

His wife retrained him, though.

"Who's the most beautiful woman in the world?" she will ask.

"You are, honey."

"Is that woman's butt bigger than mine?"

"Way bigger, honey."

"Am I fatter than that woman?

"No way, babe. She's way bigger."

There would probably be a lot of money in a book that offered to help men translate this difficult language in all its forms, but I'm no authority. I thought I had mastered Girl Speak until I went to praise Firstborn's canoe paddling prowess.

"Paddling sure agrees with you," I gamely began. "I mean, look at your arms. They're not skinny like they used to be. They're bigger. I mean, they're rounder."

Hey, cut me some slack. The kid had worked hard for weeks. It showed.

Firstborn glared as I tried to recover.

"Your arms aren't skinny anymore. They're thick."

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.