Dear Emrie,
I met a woman today and I remember thinking that she reminded me of a mermaid or a nymph or something along those lines, but regardless of what type of creature, it definitely had to be something with sharp pointed teeth. While trying to understand even a quarter of what she was saying, I was waiting for gills to spontaneously sprout from her overly long neck and for her to start speaking with a voice not unlike the mermaids in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But I’m sure that she was actually a really nice person, I just like to pretend that everyone has the personalities of “mythical beings”.
I’ve come to realize that my French isn’t as good as I originally thought, but as bad as my French may be, I can still figure out when someone doesn’t like me. Call it intuition or good body language reading, but when someone throws rocks at your face, or says when you are eating, “not you, you don’t eat so you can starve”, or the classic, “you stay there so when I walk away you get lost.” At first I thought maybe I was just translating wrong, but I realized that my gut feelings had been right. After trying to push me into an empty concrete pool it dawned on me that this little girl really fucking hated me. The look on her face was enough, and if she could send me into oblivion with that glare she would without hesitation. Before writing this I thought that maybe she was just a little girl, not even four years old, she doesn’t know what she is doing. But I know now that everything she does is highly purposeful, and the purpose is to either see me dead or disappear. Three days of mental and physical abuse from this ill-intentioned girl and I finally broke down into tears… of course I didn’t let her see that I was beginning to break. And then I realized that there was no way that I was going to quit this; the promise of freedom, tanning nude, daily macaroons, and all the French men that I want, it was all too much to give up. So I decided that I would give this girl the best care possible, but I could either make her life very fun, or very, very miserable. One example, “Oh, is this the last piece of cake? You want it?” *starts to hand the cake to the little girl, then snaps it back and eats it*. So I will make my intentions clear to her, because I know that she can at least understand part of my mangled French. It’s better than what you would do, Emrie; scratch her eyes out and then feed them to her with some berries and cream to make a nice smoothie.
Even though every word and every action that this girl does makes me want to yell, “are you fucking kidding me??!?!?!?”, I’ve still enjoyed every day here in some way. For the past two days I have had my shades on, a macaroon in hand, and my feet dipped in the ice cold lake. I can hear the piano from the hotel in the distance, with my back against an ancient rock wall and my nonexistent ass falling between two boards of a dock, I’ve never been more comfortable in my life, the only thing missing is your cat hair accessorizing my outfit. And even as 60+ year old men walk by in speedo thongs with their coin purses hanging halfway out, and women who openly bronze their saggy boobs, I feel oddly at home. It’s almost as though I’ve spent all my life sitting in this exact spot; my eyes are not so assaulted by the flesh which flows so freely from their coverings, it’s no more strange than a UFO arriving on your front lawn to tell you that you are actually the reigning queen of Mars and you were sent to Earth for your safety during their undergrou
nd civil war.
For some reason, ever since arriving here I am dizzy almost all the time. At first I thought that maybe something I was eating was making me constantly high, but then that annoying logical side of me realized that the more likely cause is the high altitude, now I know why you like climbing stuff so much, you junkie.
Also, it has always puzzled me why there aren’t more French cats. After being a passenger in a French car, I am beginning to notice a correlation between the way that the French drive and the lack of cats. So now I am grateful that you couldn’t fit in my carry on, because as car savvy as you are, you could never account for the ass-backwards crazy drivers that all French seem to be.
Can you find the cat?
While wandering through the little village I happened across a path that looked like it would take me back in time. Walking down the path that I have dubbed, “Ancien”, I kept waiting for someone dressed in dirt covered furs wielding an ax to jump out of the bushes. Alas, as I lead a very unexciting life, no one, not a person from this time, or another were to be seen. I thought that least someone dressed up like an ancient barbarian could have jumped out of the bushes, since it seemed that every walking-through-the-forest scene in every Lord of the Rings movie was filmed on this exact path. As luck would have it, I was left disappointed.
C’est comme ca
Well, so far so good, Emrie. I miss you and about a bagillion others, but mostly you.
Dear Emrie, 