It strikes me funny that being in my hometown I say, "bonjour" instead of hello, "pardon" instead of excuse-me, and "merci" in place of thank you. Those French words pop out in a flash of habit, reminding me that France has slipped under my skin and taken root.
Equally surprising is the bombardment of English. It feels strange to understand everything, and not be able to tune out anything. Tidbits of conversations, three dressing rooms down, I hear and I’m intrigued. The words sound fresh and new, like old friends that I haven’t heard from in a long time. I realize that I don’t have to speak slowly for others to understand me. Soon thereafter I lose my voice from non-stop talk.
When French husband calls he sounds soooooooooooooooooo mysterious, and his accent is kinda renewed to being sexy again. There is something spicy in words being spoken in another language, n’est-ce-pas?
Photo: France it is right around the corner…French wrapping paper and postcard for sale at a nearby shop.
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