Yesterday I began studying French. If you, dear reader, are ever in need of humility, I have an instant cure for you. Take up a foreign language. One is going along, repeating, puffed up over one's perfectly formed "ohm" --which , in this morning's foggy recollection has something to do with a group of men either swimming, eating or running--and then the trap is sprung. I am shown the picture of said men again and asked to describe what they are doing, while my French teacher falls silent.
It is at this moment that I am forced to admit that while I was supposed to be internalizing the French language, I was, instead, deciding which of the three men in the picture would make the best boyfriend: a complicated but swift mathematics based on the summative value of his choice of cashmere sweater + healthy salad - sneakers + Brad Pitt hair. Once I had chosen the man on the right, I had to give him a name, of course, and then Jean and I were off to a city that had fountains and public gardens that once belonged to royalty. One can see now that I was profoundly unprepared to choose among three verbs to describe that the characters in my dream-date game show were indeed eating. When I indicated they were swimming, I wasn't far off, as I believe once Bachelor #1 and I got to the city with the fountains, I did jump in, where it was suddenly night, we were alone, and he was a movie producer.
As today is Daylight Savings Time, I am trying not to feel the pressure of having lost an hour when my imagination conspired with my hormones to cut class. My spirits are buoyed by the fact that the French also lost an hour today--however, being French, no one will go looking for it, as they are now one hour closer to going to the cafe, while Americans will be complaining over decreased productivity until next Tuesday.
That is, in fact, what learning French is all about for me. If I can speak the language, maybe I can further develop my détachement from concepts like "progress" and become the Parisian woman I feel I'm destined to be. Perhaps I'll start with forgiving myself for sexual diversions--something I'm sure would merit an A from my French teacher, even if she isn't saying a word.
