Here’s the thing about my French… it’s coming along.
It is. I swear it is.
It may not sound pretty and be 100% correct (more like 72%) but I’m speaking it. And I probably sound like Balki from Perfect Strangers, but in French, but who cares, it’s happening.
Some conversations are easier than others… like when Papa’s Wife and I hang out, I’m conversing and laughing and I feel awesome. And with M, we can talk, and more importantly shop. Brother-in-Law, Child Bride and I do OK. Just last week The Husband and I had a great evening with them, and I understood all off the jokes.
But I still have one leap left, one major hurdle in Le Petit Village…
Mr Honey’s accent is difficult, it’s a hardcore south of France accent. And according to The Husband, if anyone in France listened to Mr. Honey they would know exactly where he is from (think southern U.S., Boston, Glasgow and Cork accents… distinct and completely unmistakable). He doesn’t sound anything like my French podcasts. Mr Honey and my podcasts sound almost like different languages altogether.
So last night, after a long day shopping in Aix (bonjour Zara!) The Husband and I stopped by The Honey House for a quick hello and apéro.
Mr & Mrs Honey had been out foraging for mushrooms and since they had collected more than enough they asked us if we would like some. With memories of The Mushroom Incident flashing through my head, I turned my French ears on and decided to pay extra close attention as Mr Honey took the mushrooms out of the sack and told us how to prepare them.
Maybe it was all the Merlot Mr Honey had drank, maybe it was all the Merlot I had drank, but as he spoke and picked up the mushrooms showing them to me, this is what I heard;
“These mushrooms, the sheep kick them and brush their teeth.”
Now that’s not right.
“uh, répétez s’il te plaît“
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