Salut Helene, Aurore, Marine, Jean, Marc, Fred, et, bien sur, Vincent . . .these are names of some French speaking people I know. I am not French but I hang out with the French crowd in Buffalo. This makes me sort of French. It also makes my family think I aspire to being French but you see, my little muffin, I am like a pain au chocolat: I want to look French on the outside but have my American optimism and ideals on the inside. Aha! This is why I am running so much.
Mais! the other day I was at the estate sale in my home of Buffalo, NY. My mom said I looked very French. Actually, I can’t even remember if she said this. In my mind, she said this because my mom is always making me feel tres belle about the way I look–often by comparing me to a French actress. I might have just made this part up to. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure my mom thinks I look like numerous French actresses. There are too many to count. I think this because this is why I mostly hang out with my mom, instead of trying to make other friends, as she advises. Oh I remembered what she said! She said I looked like an artist. Maybe a French artist? Like I look like Monet? Don’t know but I’ll take it!
(image of Monet by Theodore Robinson)
I still cannot speak French very well; I have been learning it for so long that people often think I am fluent. Mais, non. I am not fluent. Mais, oui! Je suis Audrey Tautou! Or, maybe I am Monet. Je ne sais pas! Both have talent and style. I know I need to learn French but I first I will work on my water lilies and finding a walking stick. Yes. This is a much better plan. Okay, I must go do this. Ciao mes amies!