It has now been five and a half weeks since I’ve moved to Le Petit Village. Forty days to be exact. And as of today, exactly two months since my last day of work. But whose counting?
And in this five and half weeks, forty days, and two months since leaving the desk I was chained to, everyone’s favorite question is:
“So how’s your French coming along?”.
I get asked this via email, phone, and Skype, from Dublin, New York, and Texas.
And my answer is always the same:
And honestly, it’s fine.
There are days where I’m feeling super positive about it. Days when I’m hanging with my new French girl friends V and M and I find myself talking and laughing.
And not in English!
Ok, not really fully in French either, but not in English!
And then later the Boyfriend will report back that V and M have both complimented me on how well my French is coming along and everyone is sure I’ll be flying and fluent in five months.
And I feel good!
But then there are other days.
Days when I’m at the Honeys or Papas and I sit smiling trying to cover my confusion. And I’ll look anxiously at the Boyfriend willing him to give me just one small inkling of what everyone is talking about. Or I try to just latch onto one word. Just let me understand one word and I may be able to follow what’s happening. And that one word is usually just out of my reach and I leave feeling like an idiot, sure that they all hate me because I’m a stupid girl who can’t speak French and never ever will. And then the Boyfriend has to give me extra cuddles and let me pick the dvd.
And then I’ll go to sleep sad but wake up on the right side of the bed (which is always because that’s my side). I will wake up invigorated, empowered, and glass half full, ready to conquer my daily French lesson. And after studying, listening, and quizzing, I will feel so good that I will go for a jog and enjoy my beautiful Provencal surroundings. I will look around and feel blessed that I have the opportunity to live in such an amazing place. And because I am such a multi-tasker, I will listen to my French earworms on my Ipod. And I will feel good!
And then a blonde couple, clearly not French, and judging by their ensembles, clearly tourists will appear out of nowhere and say:
“Excusez moi Mademoiselle, comment est-ce que je fais pour aller…?”
And like a robot, I will say the French words I say the most:
“Je suis desole, je ne parle pas Francais”
And then I go home and wait for my cuddles.
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