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).