My Feet, My French, My Folitics

I have never been one for shoes. Due, perhaps, to the aforementioned large size of mine. I used to be happiest barefoot but in a traumatic experience circa 1992 where I stepped on a bee and it stung me, I began to appreciate the glory of flip flops. Apart from the months of November, December, January, February, and March, when the snowy Michigan weather sends me to my Uggs I tend to wear flip flops throughout the year. Sure on my biannual run I'll thrown on a pair of tennis shoes, or on the rare night where I feel like dressing up I'll rock a pair of heels. But generally, my Old Navy flip flops and I get along superbly.

But alas, in my realization that my beloved flip flops might make playing spot the American a touch too easy for the Frenchies, I left the flip flops. Which left me with only 4 pairs of shoes. Two heels, one boots, one tennis shoes. In an act of generosity, my parents and grandma sent me boots and two pairs of ballet flats. I put on my ballet flats and trotted off to class. By the time I got to class, the back of my ankles were bleeding and I had no idea why. Then someone told me about a little thing called breaking in shoes. Who knew that buying new shoes meant walking around with bleeding feet for three days? I tried the boots today and they were tres more comfortable. In the mean time, I will work on this so called breaking in of the ballet flats, as I'm promised once you break them in they are the most comfortable. I have also, in my switching of French classes, landed in the building which is requires a seven flight climb. But pas de probleme, I love a good hike up the stairs. Makes me feel like I am making up for years of not working out.

Which brings us to French, and phonetics. Back in the day, three days ago, I found phonetics highly entertaining. With a sing songy voice we learned to say nouzallon instead of nou allon. Now I find it irritating. My class is mostly made up of Americans, but also some Mexicans, Koreans, and Japanese. I used to think the Mexicans spoke really good French. Then I realized they were speaking Spanish with a French accent, my original approach, but they're better at it than I am and aren't as easily caught, those little stinkers. The Koreans and Japanese can't, for the life of them, recognize the difference between a P and an F. For 10 minutes, my professor tried to get them to say "Je paye" but they kept saying, "Je faye". She finally gave up. This leads us to the Americans. We can say a P and an F. We can get the basics of the pronunciation. Apparently, this is not good enough. When we are generally harassed until, half an hour later, our errs and oos and iiis are exhausted. I understand the insistence on speaking the language correctly, and understand that coming from English we have a better grasp than those coming from non-Roman alphabet languages. But, you would think a little acceptance could be allowed. I have also heard, though, that most Parisians don't think the French spoken in the south is correct and scoff at the idea that anyone from Quebec could possibly speak French anywhere near the accuracy they desire.

Which leads us to my politics, or, if you have a hard time with Ps, my folitics. Paris is obsessed with the election. Newspapers advertise "La Guerre Hillary et Obama". Most Parisians seem into Hillary, but generally because they think she was a good first lady. So, while it's becoming increasingly, painfully obvious that Obama is probably going to win, I'm still in Team Hillary. And I hope if you are in Ohio or in Texas and considering voting, you will vote for Hillary. Regardless, I hope one of them bows out to spare me the constant insistence of the Frenchies to ask me who I'm voting for, and why and why are Americans so stupid. Luckily, I usually confuse them by telling them Michigan got their votes taken away. They really like that one. Keeps them going for hours.

In the meantime, I'm off to brave my apartment, where Roomie is having a party full of Frenchies.