Instead of pain, pain.

My weekend got off to a very bad start. I was in a horrid mood Friday, made worse by my eternally aggravating lack of WiFi connection, made even worse when La Femme aux Grandes Yeux knocked on my door at 10:30 to tell me that the message I’d sent (the umpteenth, mind you) in which I reminded her to do something about the WiFi was “aggressive and disrespectful.”

(Note: I’ve re-read the message now that I’m calm, and I think it was perfectly reasonable. Julie and her parents agree.)

I was already in my pajamas, definitely not in second language mode. Now I’m really mad at myself for not having whipped together my sassiest French to say, “Yeah, well I think it’s disrespectful to ignore me for four months and then knock on my door at 22:30.”

I went to sleep thinking that going to the Farmer’s Market the next morning would be just the thing to cheer me up.

Oh but wait.

When I went, as always, straight to my favorite bakery stall to get a week’s supply of pain d’épices (those magical cookies I’ve mentioned a time or four…), I was horrified to discover only their conspicuous absence. I assumed they had sold out, but to be sure, I asked the woman behind the counter.

She replied, “We’ll have them again next year.”

Come again? I don’t always understand everything that’s said to me in French, but after ten years with the language, I can at least differentiate between “semaine” (week) and “an” (year).

Mais si. My beloved cookies, she explained, are seasonal. I felt like that thing in the movies where the background blurs out and the camera zooms in on the person’s face as they scream NOOOOOOOOOOO. I dropped to my knees,  shook my fist at the heavens and said, “Il n’y a pas de raison d’être! As God is my witness, I’ll never go cookie-less again!”

I’m still grieving like a just-quit smoker, but luckily my weekend got better from there. Stay tuned for my first football match (of the global variety).


One response to “Instead of pain, pain.

  1. I’ll have a surprise for you soon, then.

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