FIRST NIGHT

          I’m a bit more than nauseous and I’m already worried enough about first impressions but at least my malady has give me one expression to use that I know, Je suis malade! So that will get me through the door but God only knows what after that. We all sit in the parlor and have an aperitif, I choose whiskey, it was offered, and they go straight for the Bordeaux. Damn it! Whiskey is a digestif I began to bitch at myself but why was it there? Was it a trick? Are they trying to see just how American I am? Either way I needed the liquid courage to progress so tradition and general rules of etiquette be damned

            We sip and talk and I try my damndest to find words I recognize and although I am totally overwhelmed their smiles and laughs set me at ease. I no longer fear the father as it seems he already understands that I’m not going to understand him and he feels only a slight compulsion to make me.  It’s very hard to learn when you are under stress, you know, think way back in the day in school when you had to answer the question with all eyes on you and the only thing you could think of was, “how in the hell am I going to get out of this!” Now take that situation and have the teacher ask you in French, or Chinese if you know French, and if you know both well congratu-freakin-lations.

            They wait for me to finish sipping my neat whiskey and we all move into the dining room where we have soup and morsels before the main course. Once we finish the start of the meal the mother brings in a perfect huge steak. She shows me later how she cooked it in there own interior oven, what we would call a BBQ, where she utilized searing hot coals to cook a perfect piece of steak. I wish I had time to describe it but I wish I had one in my home. Although my stomach is the size of a pea I can actually feel it open up and take a look. Yes stomach, it’s not English food. The father loves to hear it when I say the English poisoned me so it’s a joke a bring up a few times, although I really do feel as if the English poisoned me so I’m happy he gets a kick out of it but each time I say it I want to raise a fist in their general direction. Oh and wine, their own of course, and it’s good even in my state.

            I really know that I’m making a horrible first impression but what can I do? I eat, drink, listen, and occasionally take a stab at speaking which is a lot like me doing a simple Jack impression from Tropic Thunder. I got a little impatient with my own verbage and for some reason I quickly spoke Spanish without thought or reason. Now why in the holy hell would I revert to Spanish when I speak English? She once again tucks out of the dining room and leaves me with the father for several minutes. This is when and where I discovered why I somewhat understand him. He speaks with his hands and with an inflection that resembles myself. The long and the short of it was it was a great evening and they were gracious as holy heck and the food was fantastic and to say it just kept coming wouldn’t do the evening any justice.

            We finished the evening with their brand of eau de vie, water of life, but it is far from being water. Half a shot is all you really pour and that half a shot is for sipping not for slinging back before flipping out your bourbon street boobs. He gave me one made of a type of root and said, “médicament.” God I hope so as I sipped it and prayed that it would finish off the remaining red coats in my stomach.