I was strolling down the mountain and realized I hadn’t checked out the hotel yet so I thought I’d give it a gander. As I made my way to the front door a little old tourist lady stepped out and looked me up from head to toe with her mouth so wide I thought of uncapping the beer bottle I had stuffed in my jacket.
The following day I went with the father to pick up a refrigerator truck in Colmar and when we entered the renter guy, God only knows what he is in French, looked me up and down and then back again. OK, what is going on? I tried to ask the father what the problem was but he was more concerned about whether I really could legally drive his car back to the estate. “Hell yeah I can!” I replied and we were off. (See previous post)
I forgot about all of the above until I was having drinks with Apolline that night and I told her what had happened. By the way, I was totally mistaken, she knows way more English than I do French and since she lived in London for a time her English comes with that accent. It’s cute; I’ll admit it, especially since I find the English accent about as attractive as a uni-brow. She immediately knew what was up and told me that I am really really tall! I had to laugh at all of that since, yes, I’m taller than everyone here but I’m not Shaq, or even his pants for that matter, but here they don’t expect anyone over 5’8” and I’m just a bit over 6. It made me think of earlier in day when a girl was trying to jump and put a wooden box back on top of a locker. I stopped her, took the box, and slid it up on top of the other boxes and went about my way. I heard her mutter sweetly in French “who needs a ladder” in which I simply replied.
“Je suis la échelle.” (I am the ladder)
She turned red since she didn’t know I could understand her. It was all making sense, the words mostly; the French girls are still a bit of a mystery but that’s a whole other blog or book or Oprah. Does Oprah still have a show?
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