It's all fun and games until somebody falls in love

Why haven't I written this year? Well, life, I suppose, has stepped in. Really, living in France this year is LIVING. It's going to the pharmacy and the bank and the post office, and actually understanding what people are saying to me. It doesn't seem so novel anymore and it's getting harder and harder to catch the cultural differences, and write about them, when you start becoming a member of the culture.

Also, there's the fact that my experience as an au pair, to a haughty, domineering, way-too-wealthy PARISIAN family was...nothing to write home about! So I did something crazy back in March - I quit my job in the middle of the year! And not only did I quit, I stayed in France. I found a job, another job, and an apartment (if you call 10 square meters an apartment).

This year has been different from last year: less travelling, less freedom, more cooking, more work. With one very important change: I fell in love. Hard.

And so I find myself suddenly preparing for year three in France, my new home town. When I first went to college, I wasn't really sure what was going on Freshman year. Everything was new, I was learning my way around Seattle and figuring out who I was and what I wanted to study. By Sophomore year I had more friends, more confidence on the road, and an idea about my major. Junior and Senior years were both a breeze; I was confident and felt right at home in Seattle. I loved where I was, who I was with, what I was doing. Well, right now, I'm at the end of my Sophomore year in France. I'm finally getting this culture, these people, this place. And, since I've lasted this long, I want to stay here until it feels as familiar and comfortable as a summer breeze on bare skin.

But did I mention that I love Seattle? That I miss people and places and activites and views that I'll never find in France, no matter how comfortable I get with baguette-ordering and metro-navigating. I absolutely, poitively cannot wait to come home! In exactly 7 weeks, thankyouverymuch. But the real reason I wanted to write today was to recount a very funny conversation I just had with a random stranger on the street...

There I was, walking home from the grocery store. I was thinking about the cherries I was about to devour and about the lasagna and chocolate mousse I would be making later tonight when, out of the blue, a large French man began asking me where he could find a covered tennis court in the neighborhood. Here is the delightful conversation we proceeded to have, in French.

"Covered?" I said. "I know one that's uncovered, just around the corner, but I don't think I've seen a covered court."
"I've been walking for ages." He explained, "And noone on this street knows of a covered court around here."
"Good luck!" I said, cheerfully, and turned to go.
"It's just that, I need to find this sports club in the area. People are waiting for me there." He pressed.
What does he expect me to say? I wondered to myself, smiling and nodding, and edging backwards.
"Well, ok, here's the thing...it was my birthday yesterday." He finally got out, rubbing his balding head.
"Happy birthday!" I exclaimed, smiling indulgently.
"Uhh, I'm 43." He admitted, sheepishly.
"I wouldn't have guessed it!" I added politely. (Wanting to look young is something French and American people have in common.)
"And, er, you see, I have this date tonight..." He looked flustered. "And, well...how would you say I look, you know, my...outfit?" He finally finished.
"Ohh, yes, you look really nice!" I encouraged. And, really, he did. He was overweight but with an open, friendly face and he had on a great suit.
"Oh, thank you." He smiled, "I wasn't so sure..."
"Well, good luck!" I said, "And happy birthday again!"
"Thank you, that's really nice of you to say." He said, then headed off to find this mystical indoor tennis court.

Now, I ask you, who wouldn't want to have that conversation in a foreign language?