Tonight, I went to dinner at Genevieve's daughter's house, and we dined with her daughter's fiance and his parents. First of all, Genevieve driving is the most frightening thing in the world. It is as if Craig (my 17 year old brother), Marissa (one of my very best friends from Long Island), and a bear are sharing the drivers seat. Every time she accelerates, it's an acceleration closer to my death. I am 80% sure that she will get in a car accident by the time I leave here.
ANYWAY, just as a back track, if you can recall I encountered a very outgoing Croatian man in Madrid from our hostel who called me his "little mouse." We never ever had a real conversation; he just coined this phrase. Here are some of the things he said to me and my friends. Mind you he was drunk and has a heavy Croatian accent:
"Little mouse! I want to buy you for a hunk of cheese! Or two! Or a horse!"
"Little mouse, where is our litter?!"
to my friend: "Where is my wiiiiiiiife?!"
and at dinner the next day, because everyone made dinner in the hostel, he threw a piece of cheese at me, completely sober:
"Good evening little mouse!"
I swear on all of the chocolate crepes in the world that I did nothing to provoke this kind man. I just hope no one ever offers to buy me for a horse again.
Basically, I thought my days as a little mouse were over. But alas.
Back to the present. After dinner, we had dessert. Dessert is three courses: cheese, cake, coffee. There is a way to cut a circular cheese and a way to cut a square cheese. When were taught this during the first week of the AUCP, I was unsurprisingly not paying attention. Thus, I made an incorrect incision in the square cheese, and the future father-in-law of Genevieve's daughter started to laugh at me, as did Genevieve, and soon the rest of the table. Then they all laughed and exclaimed: "un petit souris!!!"
Now this didn't register, because these people preceded to make me drunk in spite of the midterm I have tomorrow that I told them all about. What is a "souris?" It is a mouse. What is "petit?" Little. This table of people called me a little mouse. WHAT. I AM IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE. I'm sorry, but am I universally a little mouse across the ocean? This was more humorous to me than anything. And to explain the Croatian man story in French to this tipsy bunch would have been as difficult as to explain Barnard's relationship to Columbia in french.
In conclusion, this is a fake world. Where am I? Clearly the best place on earth.
FAKE WORLD <3 <3
ReplyDeleteI WANT TO GO BACK TO EUROPEEEEEEEEEEEEE. PLEASE. G-D. SEND ME BACK. But if that is not possible, send Jill back to us safely.
ReplyDeleteMISS YOU,
ally d
Bonjour ma petite souris!
ReplyDeleteAs I told your maman, I am totally enjoying your stories about the wacky Croatian. Nobody ever said my people were sane. :)
Keep the blog adventures coming, and enjoy your travels!
xoxo,
Chicago Sherry
when i first scanned this post i thought you were actually commenting on my driving haha.... but once i read it over i decided to pray you would not get into a car accident in france and forgive you for your horrible but true comparison. that is a run-on sentence like whoa. destefano would yell at me but i can't hear her over the blowahhhhhs.
ReplyDeletethe point of this post is that i love you and i'm glad you still remember me while galavanting across europe.
<3
yenta
That analogy is actually the exact vision I have in my head of you driving. Except the bear is drunk and Marissa is sleeping. Hope all is well JIllian. Obviously you know this isn't Maris being mean. Love, Jonathan.
ReplyDeleteaw little mouse! i love you comparing genevieves driving to marissas. enjoy abroad as much as you can because i would give anything to be back there!! i kinda want pastrami from bens now. okay lets skype before you come home though seriously. maybe thursday or friday (i have two exams tomorrow ugh). and the 7th thing i like the most that you do, you make me love you
ReplyDelete