April 27, 2009

French Lessons

I have decided I want to convert to being French. You can convert religions, so why not cultures, right? Because I'm not just talking about citizenship. I could really care less if I get to vote against Sarkozy with all the other champagne socialists next election. What I want is the accent and the effortless sex all French chicks I'm friends with seem to ooze. Yes, I know I'm essentialising here - bad feminist! Bad feminist! But it's true!

My French next door neighbour in halls, whom we'll call M., wears proper negligees to bed every night, regardless of whether or not she has a sleeping companion. There she is, in full-on sex wear, going to the washroom in the middle of the night, scandalizing all the first year boys who see her. When I try to explain to her that they're shocked because she's sporting unmentionables, she replies, "Sarah, this isn't a negliee. This is my peejaamaa!" I wish my pajamas were black lacey camisoles that barely cover my ass while showing off the coverture of my breasts (which, if I were Franch, would be perfect, I've deciced). The best part of this story, however, is the fact that my neighbour didn't even buy her scandalous night gown herself. It was a gift - from her MOTHER!. All I have to say is that it must be fun to be a teenager in France....

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