So, we love artwork. This is nothing new. We take perfectly lovely and sweet photographs of kittens and sunsets and Maude and jack 'em all up and make 'em say really profane and generally disrespectful stuff. So, when one of our MommyLand moms sends us a story about her most embarrassing moment AND included 27 separate e-mails worth of original artwork to got with it, ummm, HELLO! Of course we're going to run it. Mostly because we begged her to write it for us in the first place. A very huge thank you to Kate in Michigan, who is also the dictator of the RFML SparkPeople Strength Team (where we first became acquainted with her incredible illustrating skills). She is the Queen of the Ninja Pirate Hookers and we adore her.
Back in the DBK (Days Before Kids), my husband and I lived in Pittsburgh.
We loved it. We were young (late 20s), smart (he was getting his PhD and I had just gotten my Master’s), and with a small amount of discretionary cash which we spent unwisely and very well. One Friday afternoon in January, my husband called me at my temp job and asked if I wanted to go to PARIS the following weekend.
Well, turned out that there was an insanely good rate on airline tickets out of the ‘Burgh, but ONLY if you buy TODAY.
“Ummm, even yesser!” I believe was my answer.
So we went. It was three days of walking, eating, going to museums, checking out the Eiffel Tower,
and eating some more. I felt so cosmopolitan. Such a World Traveler. We just up and went to Europe! For the weekend! How cool were we?
After shopping on the Champs Elysees (we bought him a leather coat - did you know there are INCREDIBLE sales in Paris in January? It’s true.) We were happy, tired, and a mite hungry. That’s where our story begins.
Oh, how wonderful. An out-of-the-way Café full of Parisians! Incroyable! We practiced our EXTREMELY limited French and got a table near the windows. The tables were adorably close together. Cigarette smoke everywhere.
We happily ordered coffee while we perused the menu.
Oh, it felt so good to be able to order lunch -- IN FRENCH! Did you know that “hard boiled eggs” is “oeuf dur”? It totally is.
The ham was on the bottom, with some fancy schmancy mustard (pardon, “la moutarde”), interspersed with delectable tomato slices and some green leafy something. The halved oeufs were arrayed artfully on top, their little white bottoms nestled into what I can only assume was some mustard/Dijon/hollandaise sauce. I didn’t care what it was called. I wanted to dive in.
Cradling this rather large sandwich in my hands, I debated the best approach. It was too tall to just munch easily, so I began nibbling on one end, all the time sitting up, coquettishly swinging my crossed leg back and forth, showing off my high-heeled boot.
Out of the corner of my heavily mascaraed eye, I saw something white fly through the air.
White and yellow, actually. My husband caught my eye. We both sat very still, smiles frozen on our faces.
Him: “What was that?”
Me: "Maybe an egg?”
I peered at the far side of my sandwich. Whaddya know -- an oeuf was AWOL. Whoops. I snuck a glance under the table, expecting to find the egg where I could discreetly kick it out of sight.
Maybe under my seat?
This was not funny any more.
An egg cannot just disappear. NOT EVEN IN PARIS. I was starting to hyperventilate a bit. Then…
I looked at the woman at the table RIGHT next to us. She was so exquisite. So chic. So… wearing white. In January.
Ummm, oh. no. it. didn't.
I began frantically searching for...for what? Words!
She glanced down, wrinkled her flawlessly alabaster brow, and said in mellifluous French,
Oh God. What? Is she telling me she’s calling the cops on the Ugly American?
My husband, seeing that even the tiny shreds of my Frencherican had abandoned me, translated. “Honey, she’s saying that it’s not easy to eat those sandwiches.”
I was desperate. I was sweating and hideously embarrassed. I needed to get out. We flagged down the Garcon and paid the bill -- and probably tipped him about 427%. I couldn’t meet the Chic Woman’s eye as we left. However, I did hear a very French snort.
So, just a review:
HOW I FELT BEFORE LUNCH:
Next time I visit gay Paree, I’m gonna change my name. And avoid oeufs. Dur.
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011
Remember that time I told you the story about how I threw up at Five Guys and it was really gross? Well, there was this other time that s...
Image from Wikipedia For the past two months, one branch of my extended family tree has been dealing with the fallout of many years o...
Whole30 Day 0: Later this week, I'm starting a diet/nutrition/sadness program called Whole30 . Where you eat nothing but strict Pa...
Last Friday, roughly 25% of the second grade at my kids' school was sent home with a nasty stomach bug that had kids puking in buckets...
So last summer, my youngest daughter (age 5) began seeing previews for a new Dora show called Dora and Friends: Into the City! Gone was th...
Guru Louise and I asked you about what most teachers really want for end of the year gifts. We got hundreds of answers on Facebook , Tw...
When I got the email with this guest post in it, I was very happy because I know a bunch of moms with ADD or ADHD - and you know what? ...
We’ve had a lot of people ask us to write a post about the seemingly innocent topic of the Mother-in-Law. Seriously, people? Are you kidding...
Doesn't it look delicious? Well, you can't have any because it's poison. This long overdue post about kids with food allergi...
It's winter and its freezing and it's always dark and everyone is sort of sick. So at my house, it is the season of watching too muc...