Because I go to a school specifically for foreign language students (like me), it wouldn’t make any sense for a fluent French speaker to be in my classes. This is a bummer, but I have found ways to meet French friends. I have, as you might know, never been one to get the short end of a social stick.

When Molly and I went to church last Sunday, we met about 6 different people. One of them, whose name was Francois, introduced himself straight up without the formal classroom model, “Hello, how are you? My name is ____.” He simply said, “Francois.” And me, being culture-shocked-grasp-any-word-that-I-remotely-recognize said, “AMERICAIN!!!!”

In the split second I had to process my French language success, I realized with horror that I had not only completely disregarded his NAME, but I had mistaken it for a NATIONALITY. To top off the Moronic Marvel, I added that I was an American BOY. Not a girl. Uuuugh.

I realized my error and covered my face in absolute mortification. I knew they weren’t laughing AT me but rather at my epiphany, but I desperately wanted to find the next large casket in the church and crawl into it. Molly insisted I was endearing, Francois was a complete gentleman about it and we are all laughing about it now.

In the next 2 weeks, I am going to be attending a wonderful little “fête” for Mardi Gras at Le Club Ancienne Mairie. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into especially for Mardi Gras, but I am excited to make even more friends and practice what French I know (WITHOUT wanting to crawl into a casket!).

This picture has nothing to do with the post. I just love Molly and this picture SO MUCH, I had to share it with you.

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