Are you serious? It’s artwork?
She knew the French guard wasn’t kidding but it irritated her. Obviously, they knew, she was American and that’s what this was all about.
“Madam, Are you resisting?”
“Of course not. Have at it.” “You piece of merde”, she muttered under her breath.
The airport security guard took her backpack and began rousting through it. Her sketchbook felt violated.
She could feel it squirming and wrenching as the guard looked through every page.
“So,” she spat with hands on her hips. “Are you arresting my sketchbook?”
“No, Madame, but allow me to say, these really aren’t very good drawings, if you don’t mind my opinion. Definitely not French!”
Every ounce of her being wanted to scream,” F off you piece of shi,,”But she had been working on personal responsibility and control during sessions, so all she muttered was, “ Thank you so much for your opinion.”
The art professor was released from the grimy hands of the French police. She wandered toward the Sorbonne, inhaling the scents of Paris. It was always a good decision to come to Paris, until it wasn’t. 2004 made the French angry toward Americans. Who likes an aggressor.
“Thank you, George Bush,” she complained aloud. It was true. Never had she been treated so poorly in France. They knew something she couldn’t possibly believe. It had all been a hoax. A hoax.
Well, wars had been fought for less. That was true.
“Caffe au lait ,si vous plait,” she stated, in perfect French.
“Je ne comprends pas!” The barista barked.
“Moi non plus,” she confessed. “Moi non plus.”
— Mugsy
She knew the French guard wasn’t kidding but it irritated her. Obviously, they knew, she was American and that’s what this was all about.
“Madam, Are you resisting?”
“Of course not. Have at it.” “You piece of merde”, she muttered under her breath.
The airport security guard took her backpack and began rousting through it. Her sketchbook felt violated.
She could feel it squirming and wrenching as the guard looked through every page.
“So,” she spat with hands on her hips. “Are you arresting my sketchbook?”
“No, Madame, but allow me to say, these really aren’t very good drawings, if you don’t mind my opinion. Definitely not French!”
Every ounce of her being wanted to scream,” F off you piece of shi,,”But she had been working on personal responsibility and control during sessions, so all she muttered was, “ Thank you so much for your opinion.”
The art professor was released from the grimy hands of the French police. She wandered toward the Sorbonne, inhaling the scents of Paris. It was always a good decision to come to Paris, until it wasn’t. 2004 made the French angry toward Americans. Who likes an aggressor.
“Thank you, George Bush,” she complained aloud. It was true. Never had she been treated so poorly in France. They knew something she couldn’t possibly believe. It had all been a hoax. A hoax.
Well, wars had been fought for less. That was true.
“Caffe au lait ,si vous plait,” she stated, in perfect French.
“Je ne comprends pas!” The barista barked.
“Moi non plus,” she confessed. “Moi non plus.”
— Mugsy
Oh truly adore the ending. 😄
ReplyDeleteThis is very amusing, charming. I think I understood the French without looking it up. I did study it once. But I haven't been there, and likely won't be going. I am enjoying yours and others' fictional trips abroad, though. ---Macoff
ReplyDelete