French Class

French class is finished. And not a moment too soon. You see this 10 week course has been the source of all my problems. The laundry is piled high. I am running out of toothpaste and dish washing liquid. Why? French class.

I am unemployed. French class.

I am single. French class.

I have gained 5 pounds and my apartment needs a scrubbing. You guessed it.

But now everything will come together because I don't have all that intolerable homework hanging over me each week. What was that about? I mean I paid good money to speak this damn language and the teacher had me listening to recordings of a family of 5 talk rapidly in heavily accented French about soccer practice and the young little sister's upcoming birthday party. I mean, who could understand that?

I want to talk about the past dammit!

So far I have used this class twice. I spoke to a woman on the bus and a group of 5 young guys in odd bathing suits in the locker room at the Y. You might laugh and think they weren't even French, but they were. So far if I were to amortize my tuition that was $100 a conversation. Too much. And for what? Foreign condescension? Who needs it?

Steve Martin said, "Those French. They have a word for everything!" Actually they don't. They use one sentence to stand in place for like 5 of ours. They just have a load of exceptions. Count me as one of them.

And I can't say I didn't learn anything. I did. But if one of my friends comes up to me and fires away in French I will get defensive and shut down. I will be like a deer standing in front of a Renault at night. I hate that. I mean in that one little room on 21st Street I am brilliant and speak away to the other 5 like I was Jeanne Moreau after 50 cigarettes. But to use it in the real world requires just too much. I will wait to speak until I am fluent.

[No French was harmed in the making of this posting.]