I officially gave up trying to learn French at the end of last week. My new goal is to learn Canadian. I have been listening intently to speech patterns and polishing up my “eh” usage. I think I am improving dramatically with each passing day.
But yesterday the group of French telecommunication workers that stayed here last week came back with their fine physiques and their dirty, sexy French dialogues that make a girl want to learn a few key words in French. Not that the French boys and I are not communicating – we are definitely communicating.
Of course, I am here with my son and visiting my grandchildren – nothing deflates one’s flirting mojo quite as quick as that. But yesterday I was at the Alpengruss all alone while Noah was doing something with the kids and the French boys were hanging out causing mischief talking their dirty, sexy French. Well, I have to say, it gave me pause. Before even getting out of the car I had already calculated exactly how long I would have before Noah showed back up…at least two hours by my estimation. In two hours I theorized I could easily cause an international incident flirting with one of those boys who spoke dirty, sexy French. After all, they were clearly sent by God as a reward for me trying to learn French (or for a hundred other alternate reasons – choose whatever rationalization you think is most probable).
As I got out of the car I made eye contact with the one in the bunch who was shirtless and obviously advertising his absolutely fabulous upper body and abs and we exchanged very naughty smiles…the flirt was on. Then something quite unexpected happened, something that I didn’t see coming…a voice popped in my head like one of those angels you see on a cartoon character’s shoulder and said, “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
What??!! This sudden appearance of conscience was such a shock that it stopped me in my tracks…where the heck did it come from and why couldn’t it have shown up two hours later? I hesitated there in the parking lot and actually did a very visible size-up of the bare-chested dirty, sexy French talker. I think my mind (or perhaps my libido) did this to rationalize moving toward a should instead of moving away from such a lovely opportunity to learn a bit more about French men (or at least this one in particular).
Alas, the conscience held firm and the whole reason for me being in Canada started looping endlessly…mom and grandma…mom and grandma…uggh…that’s me – mom and grandma. I turned on my heel and headed up to my room instead of across the parking lot to where the temptation was within reach.
It was difficult, but I knew it was the right decision – at least for this trip. It is a rare trip that I am fully engaged in these roles (mom and grandma) and the other role – the carefree woman who enjoys living life with a bit more panache – well there are always other days for her. True, they may not involve beautiful French boys who talk dirty, sexy French – but it never really was about the conversation was it?
Day seven hundred and twenty-four of the new forty – obla di obla da